The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Chessmen of Mars, by Edgar Rice Burroughs
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Title: The Chessmen of Mars
Author: Edgar Rice Burroughs
Posting Date: January 28, 2010 [EBook #1153]
Release Date: January, 1998
[Last update: July 28, 2012]
Language: English
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THE CHESSMEN OF MARS

PRELUDE

JOHN CARTER COMES TO EARTH

Shea had just beaten me at chess, as usual, and, also as usual, I had
gleaned what questionable satisfaction I might by twitting him with
this indication of failing mentality by calling his attention for the
nth time to that theory, propounded by certain scientists, which is
based upon the assertion that phenomenal chess players are always found
to be from the ranks of children under twelve, adults over seventy-two
or the mentally defective—a theory that is lightly ignored upon those
rare occasions that I win. Shea had gone to bed and I should have
followed suit, for we are always in the saddle here before sunrise; but
instead I sat there before the chess table in the library, idly blowing
smoke at the dishonored head of my defeated king.

While thus profitably employed I heard the east door of the living-room
open and someone enter. I thought it was Shea returning to speak with
me on some matter of tomorrow's work; but when I raised my eyes to the
doorway that connects the two rooms I saw framed there the figure of a
bronzed giant, his otherwise naked body trapped with a jewel-encrusted
harness from which there hung at one side an ornate short-sword and at
the other a pistol of strange pattern. The black hair, the steel-gray
eyes, brave and smiling, the noble features—I recognized them at once,
and leaping to my feet I advanced with outstretched hand.

"John Carter!" I cried. "You?"

"None other, my son," he replied, taking my hand in one of his and
placing the other upon my shoulder.

"And what are you doing here?" I asked. "It has been long years since
you revisited Earth, and never before in the trappings of Mars. Lord!
but it is good to see you—and not a day older in appearance than when
you trotted me on your knee in my babyhood. How do you explain it, John
Carter, Warlord of Mars, or do you try to explain it?"

"Why attempt to explain the inexplicable?" he replied. "As I have told
you before, I am a very old man. I do not know how old I am. I recall
no childhood; but recollect only having been always as you see me now
and as you saw me first when you were five years old. You, yourself,
have aged, though not as much as most men in a corresponding number of
years, which may be accounted for by the fact that the same blood runs
in our veins; but I have not aged at all. I have discussed the question
with a noted Martian scientist, a friend of mine; but his theories are
still only theories. However, I am content with the fact—I never age,
and I love life and the vigor of youth.

"And now as to your natural question as to what brings me to Earth
again and in this, to earthly eyes, strange habiliment. We may thank
Kar Komak, the bowman of Lothar. It was he who gave me the idea upon
which I have been experimenting until at last I have achieved success.
As you know I have long possessed the power to cross the void in
spirit, but never before have I been able to impart to inanimate things
a similar power. Now, however, you see me for the first time precisely
as my Martian fellows see me—you see the very short-sword that has
tasted the blood of many a savage foeman; the harness with the devices
of Helium and the insignia of my rank; the pistol that was presented to
me by Tars Tarkas, Jeddak of Thark.

"Aside from seeing you, which is my principal reason for being here,
and satisfying myself that I can transport inanimate things from Mars
to Earth, and therefore animate things if I so desire, I have no
purpose. Earth is not for me. My every interest is upon Barsoom—my
wife, my children, my work; all are there. I will spend a quiet evening
with you and then back to the world I love even better than I love
life."

As he spoke he dropped into the chair upon the opposite side of the
chess table.

"You spoke of children," I said. "Have you more than Carthoris?"

"A daughter," he replied, "only a little younger than Carthoris, and,
barring one, the fairest thing that ever breathed the thin air of dying
Mars. Only Dejah Thoris, her mother, could be more beautiful than Tara
of Helium."

For a moment he fingered the chessmen idly. "We have a game on Mars
similar to chess," he said, "very similar. And there is a race there
that plays it grimly with men and naked swords. We call the game jetan.
It is played on a board like yours, except that there are a hundred
squares and we use twenty pieces on each side. I never see it played
without thinking of Tara of Helium and what befell her among the
chessmen of Barsoom. Would you like to hear her story?"

I said that I would and so he told it to me, and now I shall try to
re-tell it for you as nearly in the words of The Warlord of Mars as I
can recall them, but in the third person. If there be inconsistencies
and errors, let the blame fall not upon John Carter, but rather upon my
faulty memory, where it belongs. It is a strange tale and utterly
Barsoomian.

CHAPTER I

TARA IN A TANTRUM

Tara of Helium rose from the pile of silks and soft furs upon which she
had been reclining, stretched her lithe body languidly, and crossed
toward the center of the room, where, above a large table, a bronze
disc depended from the low ceiling. Her carriage was that of health and
physical perfection—the effortless harmony of faultless coordination.
A scarf of silken gossamer crossing over one shoulder was wrapped about
her body; her black hair was piled high upon her head. With a wooden
stick she tapped upon the bronze disc, lightly, and presently the
summons was answered by a slave girl, who entered, smiling, to be
greeted similarly by her mistress.

"Are my father's guests arriving?" asked the princess.

"Yes, Tara of Helium, they come," replied the slave. "I have seen
Kantos Kan, Overlord of the Navy, and Prince Soran of Ptarth, and Djor
Kantos, son of Kantos Kan," she shot a roguish glance at her mistress
as she mentioned Djor Kantos' name, "and—oh, there were others, many
have come."

"The bath, then, Uthia," said her mistress. "And why, Uthia," she
added, "do you look thus and smile when you mention the name of Djor
Kantos?"

The slave girl laughed gaily. "It is so plain to all that he worships
you," she replied.

"It is not plain to me," said Tara of Helium. "He is the friend of my
brother, Carthoris, and so he is here much; but not to see me. It is
his friendship for Carthoris that brings him thus often to the palace
of my father."

"But Carthoris is hunting in the north with Talu, Jeddak of Okar,"
Uthia reminded her.

"My bath, Uthia!" cried Tara of Helium. "That tongue of yours will
bring you to some misadventure yet."

"The bath is ready, Tara of Helium," the girl responded, her eyes still
twinkling with merriment, for she well knew that in the heart of her
mistress was no anger that could displace the love of the princess for
her slave. Preceding the daughter of The Warlord she opened the door of
an adjoining room where lay the bath—a gleaming pool of scented water
in a marble basin. Golden stanchions supported a chain of gold
encircling it and leading down into the water on either side of marble
steps. A glass dome let in the sun-light, which flooded the interior,
glancing from the polished white of the marble walls and the procession
of bathers and fishes, which, in conventional design, were inlaid with
gold in a broad band that circled the room.

Tara of Helium removed the scarf from about her and handed it to the
slave. Slowly she descended the steps to the water, the temperature of
which she tested with a symmetrical foot, undeformed by tight shoes and
high heels—a lovely foot, as God intended that feet should be and
seldom are. Finding the water to her liking, the girl swam leisurely to
and fro about the pool. With the silken ease of the seal she swam, now
at the surface, now below, her smooth muscles rolling softly beneath
her clear skin—a wordless song of health and happiness and grace.
Presently she emerged and gave herself into the hands of the slave
girl, who rubbed the body of her mistress with a sweet smelling
semi-liquid substance contained in a golden urn, until the glowing skin
was covered with a foamy lather, then a quick plunge into the pool, a
drying with soft towels, and the bath was over. Typical of the life of
the princess was the simple elegance of her bath—no retinue of useless
slaves, no pomp, no idle waste of precious moments. In another half
hour her hair was dried and built into the strange, but becoming,
coiffure of her station; her leathern trappings, encrusted with gold
and jewels, had been adjusted to her figure and she was ready to mingle
with the guests that had been bidden to the midday function at the
palace of The Warlord.

As she left her apartments to make her way to the gardens where the
guests were congregating, two warriors, the insignia of the House of
the Prince of Helium upon their harness, followed a few paces behind
her, grim reminders that the assassin's blade may never be ignored upon
Barsoom, where, in a measure, it counterbalances the great natural span
of human life, which is estimated at not less than a thousand years.

As they neared the entrance to the garden another woman, similarly
guarded, approached them from another quarter of the great palace. As
she neared them Tara of Helium turned toward her with a smile and a
happy greeting, while her guards knelt with bowed heads in willing and
voluntary adoration of the beloved of Helium. Thus always, solely at
the command of their own hearts, did the warriors of Helium greet Dejah
Thoris, whose deathless beauty had more than once brought them to
bloody warfare with other nations of Barsoom. So great was the love of
the people of Helium for the mate of John Carter it amounted
practically to worship, as though she were indeed the goddess that she
looked.

The mother and daughter exchanged the gentle, Barsoomian, "kaor" of
greeting and kissed. Then together they entered the gardens where the
guests were. A huge warrior drew his short-sword and struck his metal
shield with the flat of it, the brazen sound ringing out above the
laughter and the speech.

"The Princess comes!" he cried. "Dejah Thoris! The Princess comes! Tara
of Helium!" Thus always is royalty announced. The guests arose; the two
women inclined their heads; the guards fell back upon either side of
the entrance-way; a number of nobles advanced to pay their respects;
the laughing and the talking were resumed and Dejah Thoris and her
daughter moved simply and naturally among their guests, no suggestion
of differing rank apparent in the bearing of any who were there, though
there was more than a single Jeddak and many common warriors whose only
title lay in brave deeds, or noble patriotism. Thus it is upon Mars
where men are judged upon their own merits rather than upon those of
their grandsires, even though pride of lineage be great.

Tara of Helium let her slow gaze wander among the throng of guests
until presently it halted upon one she sought. Was the faint shadow of
a frown that crossed her brow an indication of displeasure at the sight
that met her eyes, or did the brilliant rays of the noonday sun
distress her? Who may say! She had been reared to believe that one day
she should wed Djor Kantos, son of her father's best friend. It had
been the dearest wish of Kantos Kan and The Warlord that this should
be, and Tara of Helium had accepted it as a matter of all but
accomplished fact. Djor Kantos had seemed to accept the matter in the
same way. They had spoken of it casually as something that would, as a
matter of course, take place in the indefinite future, as, for
instance, his promotion in the navy, in which he was now a padwar; or
the set functions of the court of her grandfather, Tardos Mors, Jeddak
of Helium; or Death. They had never spoken of love and that had puzzled
Tara of Helium upon the rare occasions she gave it thought, for she
knew that people who were to wed were usually much occupied with the
matter of love and she had all of a woman's curiosity—she wondered
what love was like. She was very fond of Djor Kantos and she knew that
he was very fond of her. They liked to be together, for they liked the
same things and the same people and the same books and their dancing
was a joy, not only to themselves but to those who watched them. She
could not imagine wanting to marry anyone other than Djor Kantos.

So perhaps it was only the sun that made her brows contract just the
tiniest bit at the same instant that she discovered Djor Kantos sitting
in earnest conversation with Olvia Marthis, daughter of the Jed of
Hastor. It was Djor Kantos' duty immediately to pay his respects to
Dejah Thoris and Tara of Helium; but he did not do so and presently the
daughter of The Warlord frowned indeed. She looked long at Olvia
Marthis, and though she had seen her many times before and knew her
well, she looked at her today through new eyes that saw, apparently for
the first time, that the girl from Hastor was noticeably beautiful even
among those other beautiful women of Helium. Tara of Helium was
disturbed. She attempted to analyze her emotions; but found it
difficult. Olvia Marthis was her friend—she was very fond of her and
she felt no anger toward her. Was she angry with Djor Kantos? No, she
finally decided that she was not. It was merely surprise, then, that
she felt—surprise that Djor Kantos could be more interested in another
than in herself. She was about to cross the garden and join them when
she heard her father's voice directly behind her.

"Tara of Helium!" he called, and she turned to see him approaching with
a strange warrior whose harness and metal bore devices with which she
was unfamiliar. Even among the gorgeous trappings of the men of Helium
and the visitors from distant empires those of the stranger were
remarkable for their barbaric splendor. The leather of his harness was
completely hidden beneath ornaments of platinum thickly set with
brilliant diamonds, as were the scabbards of his swords and the ornate
holster that held his long, Martian pistol. Moving through the sunlit
garden at the side of the great Warlord, the scintillant rays of his
countless gems enveloping him as in an aureole of light imparted to his
noble figure a suggestion of godliness.

"Tara of Helium, I bring you Gahan, Jed of Gathol," said John Carter,
after the simple Barsoomian custom of presentation.

"Kaor! Gahan, Jed of Gathol," returned Tara of Helium.

"My sword is at your feet, Tara of Helium," said the young chieftain.

The Warlord left them and the two seated themselves upon an ersite
bench beneath a spreading sorapus tree.

"Far Gathol," mused the girl. "Ever in my mind has it been connected
with mystery and romance and the half-forgotten lore of the ancients. I
cannot think of Gathol as existing today, possibly because I have never
before seen a Gatholian."

"And perhaps too because of the great distance that separates Helium
and Gathol, as well as the comparative insignificance of my little free
city, which might easily be lost in one corner of mighty Helium," added
Gahan. "But what we lack in power we make up in pride," he continued,
laughing. "We believe ours the oldest inhabited city upon Barsoom. It
is one of the few that has retained its freedom, and this despite the
fact that its ancient diamond mines are the richest known and, unlike
practically all the other fields, are today apparently as inexhaustible
as ever."

"Tell me of Gathol," urged the girl. "The very thought fills me with
interest," nor was it likely that the handsome face of the young jed
detracted anything from the glamour of far Gathol.

Nor did Gahan seem displeased with the excuse for further monopolizing
the society of his fair companion. His eyes seemed chained to her
exquisite features, from which they moved no further than to a rounded
breast, part hid beneath its jeweled covering, a naked shoulder or the
symmetry of a perfect arm, resplendent in bracelets of barbaric
magnificence.

"Your ancient history has doubtless told you that Gathol was built upon
an island in Throxeus, mightiest of the five oceans of old Barsoom. As
the ocean receded Gathol crept down the sides of the mountain, the
summit of which was the island upon which she had been built, until
today she covers the slopes from summit to base, while the bowels of
the great hill are honeycombed with the galleries of her mines.
Entirely surrounding us is a great salt marsh, which protects us from
invasion by land, while the rugged and ofttimes vertical topography of
our mountain renders the landing of hostile airships a precarious
undertaking."

"That, and your brave warriors?" suggested the girl.

Gahan smiled. "We do not speak of that except to enemies," he said,
"and then with tongues of steel rather than of flesh."

"But what practice in the art of war has a people which nature has thus
protected from attack?" asked Tara of Helium, who had liked the young
jed's answer to her previous question, but yet in whose mind persisted
a vague conviction of the possible effeminacy of her companion,
induced, doubtless, by the magnificence of his trappings and weapons
which carried a suggestion of splendid show rather than grim utility.

"Our natural barriers, while they have doubtless saved us from defeat
on countless occasions, have not by any means rendered us immune from
attack," he explained, "for so great is the wealth of Gathol's diamond
treasury that there yet may be found those who will risk almost certain
defeat in an effort to loot our unconquered city; so thus we find
occasional practice in the exercise of arms; but there is more to
Gathol than the mountain city. My country extends from Polodona
(Equator) north ten karads and from the tenth karad west of Horz to the
twentieth west, including thus a million square haads, the greater
proportion of which is fine grazing land where run our great herds of
thoats and zitidars.

"Surrounded as we are by predatory enemies our herdsmen must indeed be
warriors or we should have no herds, and you may be assured they get
plenty of fighting. Then there is our constant need of workers in the
mines. The Gatholians consider themselves a race of warriors and as
such prefer not to labor in the mines. The law is, however, that each
male Gatholian shall give an hour a day in labor to the government.
That is practically the only tax that is levied upon them. They prefer
however, to furnish a substitute to perform this labor, and as our own
people will not hire out for labor in the mines it has been necessary
to obtain slaves, and I do not need to tell you that slaves are not won
without fighting. We sell these slaves in the public market, the
proceeds going, half and half, to the government and the warriors who
bring them in. The purchasers are credited with the amount of labor
performed by their particular slaves. At the end of a year a good slave
will have performed the labor tax of his master for six years, and if
slaves are plentiful he is freed and permitted to return to his own
people."

"You fight in platinum and diamonds?" asked Tara, indicating his
gorgeous trappings with a quizzical smile.

Gahan laughed. "We are a vain people," he admitted, good-naturedly,
"and it is possible that we place too much value on personal
appearances. We vie with one another in the splendor of our
accoutrements when trapped for the observance of the lighter duties of
life, though when we take the field our leather is the plainest I ever
have seen worn by fighting men of Barsoom. We pride ourselves, too,
upon our physical beauty, and especially upon the beauty of our women.
May I dare to say, Tara of Helium, that I am hoping for the day when
you will visit Gathol that my people may see one who is really
beautiful?"

"The women of Helium are taught to frown with displeasure upon the
tongue of the flatterer," rejoined the girl, but Gahan, Jed of Gathol,
observed that she smiled as she said it.

A bugle sounded, clear and sweet, above the laughter and the talk. "The
Dance of Barsoom!" exclaimed the young warrior. "I claim you for it,
Tara of Helium."

The girl glanced in the direction of the bench where she had last seen
Djor Kantos. He was not in sight. She inclined her head in assent to
the claim of the Gatholian. Slaves were passing among the guests,
distributing small musical instruments of a single string. Upon each
instrument were characters which indicated the pitch and length of its
tone. The instruments were of skeel, the string of gut, and were shaped
to fit the left forearm of the dancer, to which it was strapped. There
was also a ring wound with gut which was worn between the first and
second joints of the index finger of the right hand and which, when
passed over the string of the instrument, elicited the single note
required of the dancer.

The guests had risen and were slowly making their way toward the
expanse of scarlet sward at the south end of the gardens where the
dance was to be held, when Djor Kantos came hurriedly toward Tara of
Helium. "I claim—" he exclaimed as he neared her; but she interrupted
him with a gesture.

"You are too late, Djor Kantos," she cried in mock anger. "No laggard
may claim Tara of Helium; but haste now lest thou lose also Olvia
Marthis, whom I have never seen wait long to be claimed for this or any
other dance."

"I have already lost her," admitted Djor Kantos ruefully.

"And you mean to say that you came for Tara of Helium only after having
lost Olvia Marthis?" demanded the girl, still simulating displeasure.

"Oh, Tara of Helium, you know better than that," insisted the young
man. "Was it not natural that I should assume that you would expect me,
who alone has claimed you for the Dance of Barsoom for at least twelve
times past?"

"And sit and play with my thumbs until you saw fit to come for me?" she
questioned. "Ah, no, Djor Kantos; Tara of Helium is for no laggard,"
and she threw him a sweet smile and passed on toward the assembling
dancers with Gahan, Jed of far Gathol.

The Dance of Barsoom bears a relation similar to the more formal
dancing functions of Mars that The Grand March does to ours, though it
is infinitely more intricate and more beautiful. Before a Martian youth
of either sex may attend an important social function where there is
dancing, he must have become proficient in at least three dances—The
Dance of Barsoom, his national dance, and the dance of his city. In
these three dances the dancers furnish their own music, which never
varies; nor do the steps or figures vary, having been handed down from
time immemorial. All Barsoomian dances are stately and beautiful, but
The Dance of Barsoom is a wondrous epic of motion and harmony—there is
no grotesque posturing, no vulgar or suggestive movements. It has been
described as the interpretation of the highest ideals of a world that
aspired to grace and beauty and chastity in woman, and strength and
dignity and loyalty in man.

Today, John Carter, Warlord of Mars, with Dejah Thoris, his mate, led
in the dancing, and if there was another couple that vied with them in
possession of the silent admiration of the guests it was the
resplendent Jed of Gathol and his beautiful partner. In the
ever-changing figures of the dance the man found himself now with the
girl's hand in his and again with an arm about the lithe body that the
jeweled harness but inadequately covered, and the girl, though she had
danced a thousand dances in the past, realized for the first time the
personal contact of a man's arm against her naked flesh. It troubled
her that she should notice it, and she looked up questioningly and
almost with displeasure at the man as though it was his fault. Their
eyes met and she saw in his that which she had never seen in the eyes
of Djor Kantos. It was at the very end of the dance and they both
stopped suddenly with the music and stood there looking straight into
each other's eyes. It was Gahan of Gathol who spoke first.

"Tara of Helium, I love you!" he said.

The girl drew herself to her full height. "The Jed of Gathol forgets
himself," she exclaimed haughtily.

"The Jed of Gathol would forget everything but you, Tara of Helium," he
replied. Fiercely he pressed the soft hand that he still retained from
the last position of the dance. "I love you, Tara of Helium," he
repeated. "Why should your ears refuse to hear what your eyes but just
now did not refuse to see—and answer?"

"What meanest thou?" she cried. "Are the men of Gathol such boors,
then?"

"They are neither boors nor fools," he replied, quietly. "They know
when they love a woman—and when she loves them."

Tara of Helium stamped her little foot in anger. "Go!" she said,
"before it is necessary to acquaint my father with the dishonor of his
guest."

She turned and walked away. "Wait!" cried the man. "Just another word."

"Of apology?" she asked.

"Of prophecy," he said.

"I do not care to hear it," replied Tara of Helium, and left him
standing there. She was strangely unstrung and shortly thereafter
returned to her own quarter of the palace, where she stood for a long
time by a window looking out beyond the scarlet tower of Greater Helium
toward the northwest.

Presently she turned angrily away. "I hate him!" she exclaimed aloud.

"Whom?" inquired the privileged Uthia.

Tara of Helium stamped her foot. "That ill-mannered boor, the Jed of
Gathol," she replied.

Uthia raised her slim brows.

At the stamping of the little foot, a great beast rose from the corner
of the room and crossed to Tara of Helium where it stood looking up
into her face. She placed her hand upon the ugly head. "Dear old
Woola," she said; "no love could be deeper than yours, yet it never
offends. Would that men might pattern themselves after you!"

CHAPTER II

AT THE GALE'S MERCY

Tara of Helium did not return to her father's guests, but awaited in
her own apartments the word from Djor Kantos which she knew must come,
begging her to return to the gardens. She would then refuse, haughtily.
But no appeal came from Djor Kantos. At first Tara of Helium was angry,
then she was hurt, and always she was puzzled. She could not
understand. Occasionally she thought of the Jed of Gathol and then she
would stamp her foot, for she was very angry indeed with Gahan. The
presumption of the man! He had insinuated that he read love for him in
her eyes. Never had she been so insulted and humiliated. Never had she
so thoroughly hated a man. Suddenly she turned toward Uthia.

"My flying leather!" she commanded.

"But the guests!" exclaimed the slave girl. "Your father, The Warlord,
will expect you to return."

"He will be disappointed," snapped Tara of Helium.

The slave hesitated. "He does not approve of your flying alone," she
reminded her mistress.

The young princess sprang to her feet and seized the unhappy slave by
the shoulders, shaking her. "You are becoming unbearable, Uthia," she
cried. "Soon there will be no alternative than to send you to the
public slave-market. Then possibly you will find a master to your
liking."

Tears came to the soft eyes of the slave girl. "It is because I love
you, my princess," she said softly. Tara of Helium melted. She took the
slave in her arms and kissed her.

"I have the disposition of a thoat, Uthia," she said. "Forgive me! I
love you and there is nothing that I would not do for you and nothing
would I do to harm you. Again, as I have so often in the past, I offer
you your freedom."

"I do not wish my freedom if it will separate me from you, Tara of
Helium," replied Uthia. "I am happy here with you—I think that I
should die without you."

Again the girls kissed. "And you will not fly alone, then?" questioned
the slave.

Tara of Helium laughed and pinched her companion. "You persistent
little pest," she cried. "Of course I shall fly—does not Tara of
Helium always do that which pleases her?"

Uthia shook her head sorrowfully. "Alas! she does," she admitted. "Iron
is the Warlord of Barsoom to the influences of all but two. In the
hands of Dejah Thoris and Tara of Helium he is as potters' clay."

"Then run and fetch my flying leather like the sweet slave you are,"
directed the mistress.

Far out across the ochre sea-bottoms beyond the twin cities of Helium
raced the swift flier of Tara of Helium. Thrilling to the speed and the
buoyancy and the obedience of the little craft the girl drove toward
the northwest. Why she should choose that direction she did not pause
to consider. Perhaps because in that direction lay the least known
areas of Barsoom, and, ergo, Romance, Mystery, and Adventure. In that
direction also lay far Gathol; but to that fact she gave no conscious
thought.

She did, however, think occasionally of the jed of that distant
kingdom, but the reaction to these thoughts was scarcely pleasurable.
They still brought a flush of shame to her cheeks and a surge of angry
blood to her heart. She was very angry with the Jed of Gathol, and
though she should never see him again she was quite sure that hate of
him would remain fresh in her memory forever. Mostly her thoughts
revolved about another—Djor Kantos. And when she thought of him she
thought also of Olvia Marthis of Hastor. Tara of Helium thought that
she was jealous of the fair Olvia and it made her very angry to think
that. She was angry with Djor Kantos and herself, but she was not angry
at all with Olvia Marthis, whom she loved, and so of course she was not
jealous really. The trouble was, that Tara of Helium had failed for
once to have her own way. Djor Kantos had not come running like a
willing slave when she had expected him, and, ah, here was the nub of
the whole thing! Gahan, Jed of Gathol, a stranger, had been a witness
to her humiliation. He had seen her unclaimed at the beginning of a
great function and he had had to come to her rescue to save her, as he
doubtless thought, from the inglorious fate of a wall-flower. At the
recurring thought, Tara of Helium could feel her whole body burning
with scarlet shame and then she went suddenly white and cold with rage;
whereupon she turned her flier about so abruptly that she was all but
torn from her lashings upon the flat, narrow deck. She reached home
just before dark. The guests had departed. Quiet had descended upon the
palace. An hour later she joined her father and mother at the evening
meal.

"You deserted us, Tara of Helium," said John Carter. "It is not what
the guests of John Carter should expect."

"They did not come to see me," replied Tara of Helium. "I did not ask
them."

"They were no less your guests," replied her father.

The girl rose, and came and stood beside him and put her arms about his
neck.

"My proper old Virginian," she cried, rumpling his shock of black hair.

"In Virginia you would be turned over your father's knee and spanked,"
said the man, smiling.

She crept into his lap and kissed him. "You do not love me any more,"
she announced. "No one loves me," but she could not compose her
features into a pout because bubbling laughter insisted upon breaking
through.

"The trouble is there are too many who love you," he said. "And now
there is another."

"Indeed!" she cried. "What do you mean?"

"Gahan of Gathol has asked permission to woo you."

The girl sat up very straight and tilted her chin in the air. "I would
not wed with a walking diamond-mine," she said. "I will not have him."

"I told him as much," replied her father, "and that you were as good as
betrothed to another. He was very courteous about it; but at the same
time he gave me to understand that he was accustomed to getting what he
wanted and that he wanted you very much. I suppose it will mean another
war. Your mother's beauty kept Helium at war for many years, and—well,
Tara of Helium, if I were a young man I should doubtless be willing to
set all Barsoom afire to win you, as I still would to keep your divine
mother," and he smiled across the sorapus table and its golden service
at the undimmed beauty of Mars' most beautiful woman.

"Our little girl should not yet be troubled with such matters," said
Dejah Thoris. "Remember, John Carter, that you are not dealing with an
Earth child, whose span of life would be more than half completed
before a daughter of Barsoom reached actual maturity."

"But do not the daughters of Barsoom sometimes marry as early as
twenty?" he insisted.

"Yes, but they will still be desirable in the eyes of men after forty
generations of Earth folk have returned to dust—there is no hurry, at
least, upon Barsoom. We do not fade and decay here as you tell me those
of your planet do, though you, yourself, belie your own words. When the
time seems proper Tara of Helium shall wed with Djor Kantos, and until
then let us give the matter no further thought."

"No," said the girl, "the subject irks me, and I shall not marry Djor
Kantos, or another—I do not intend to wed."

Her father and mother looked at her and smiled. "When Gahan of Gathol
returns he may carry you off," said the former.

"He has gone?" asked the girl.

"His flier departs for Gathol in the morning," John Carter replied.

"I have seen the last of him then," remarked Tara of Helium with a sigh
of relief.

"He says not," returned John Carter.

The girl dismissed the subject with a shrug and the conversation passed
to other topics. A letter had arrived from Thuvia of Ptarth, who was
visiting at her father's court while Carthoris, her mate, hunted in
Okar. Word had been received that the Tharks and Warhoons were again at
war, or rather that there had been an engagement, for war was their
habitual state. In the memory of man there had been no peace between
these two savage green hordes—only a single temporary truce. Two new
battleships had been launched at Hastor. A little band of holy therns
was attempting to revive the ancient and discredited religion of Issus,
who they claimed still lived in spirit and had communicated with them.
There were rumors of war from Dusar. A scientist claimed to have
discovered human life on the further moon. A madman had attempted to
destroy the atmosphere plant. Seven people had been assassinated in
Greater Helium during the last ten zodes, (the equivalent of an Earth
day).

Following the meal Dejah Thoris and The Warlord played at jetan, the
Barsoomian game of chess, which is played upon a board of a hundred
alternate black and orange squares. One player has twenty black pieces,
the other, twenty orange pieces. A brief description of the game may
interest those Earth readers who care for chess, and will not be lost
upon those who pursue this narrative to its conclusion, since before
they are done they will find that a knowledge of jetan will add to the
interest and the thrills that are in store for them.

The men are placed upon the board as in chess upon the first two rows
next the players. In order from left to right on the line of squares
nearest the players, the jetan pieces are Warrior, Padwar, Dwar, Flier,
Chief, Princess, Flier, Dwar, Padwar, Warrior. In the next line all are
Panthans except the end pieces, which are called Thoats, and represent
mounted warriors.

The Panthans, which are represented as warriors with one feather, may
move one space in any direction except backward; the Thoats, mounted
warriors with three feathers, may move one straight and one diagonal,
and may jump intervening pieces; Warriors, foot soldiers with two
feathers, straight in any direction, or diagonally, two spaces;
Padwars, lieutenants wearing two feathers, two diagonal in any
direction, or combination; Dwars, captains wearing three feathers,
three spaces straight in any direction, or combination; Fliers,
represented by a propellor with three blades, three spaces in any
direction, or combination, diagonally, and may jump intervening pieces;
the Chief, indicated by a diadem with ten jewels, three spaces in any
direction, straight, or diagonal; Princess, diadem with a single jewel,
same as Chief, and can jump intervening pieces.

The game is won when a player places any of his pieces on the same
square with his opponent's Princess, or when a Chief takes a Chief. It
is drawn when a Chief is taken by any opposing piece other than the
opposing Chief; or when both sides have been reduced to three pieces,
or less, of equal value, and the game is not terminated in the
following ten moves, five apiece. This is but a general outline of the
game, briefly stated.

It was this game that Dejah Thoris and John Carter were playing when
Tara of Helium bid them good night, retiring to her own quarters and
her sleeping silks and furs. "Until morning, my beloved," she called
back to them as she passed from the apartment, nor little did she
guess, nor her parents, that this might indeed be the last time that
they would ever set eyes upon her.

The morning broke dull and gray. Ominous clouds billowed restlessly and
low. Beneath them torn fragments scudded toward the northwest. From her
window Tara of Helium looked out upon this unusual scene. Dense clouds
seldom overcast the Barsoomian sky. At this hour of the day it was her
custom to ride one of those small thoats that are the saddle animals of
the red Martians, but the sight of the billowing clouds lured her to a
new adventure. Uthia still slept and the girl did not disturb her.
Instead, she dressed quietly and went to the hangar upon the roof of
the palace directly above her quarters where her own swift flier was
housed. She had never driven through the clouds. It was an adventure
that always she had longed to experience. The wind was strong and it
was with difficulty that she maneuvered the craft from the hangar
without accident, but once away it raced swiftly out above the twin
cities. The buffeting winds caught and tossed it, and the girl laughed
aloud in sheer joy of the resultant thrills. She handled the little
ship like a veteran, though few veterans would have faced the menace of
such a storm in so light a craft. Swiftly she rose toward the clouds,
racing with the scudding streamers of the storm-swept fragments, and a
moment later she was swallowed by the dense masses billowing above.
Here was a new world, a world of chaos unpeopled except for herself;
but it was a cold, damp, lonely world and she found it depressing after
the novelty of it had been dissipated, by an overpowering sense of the
magnitude of the forces surging about her. Suddenly she felt very
lonely and very cold and very little. Hurriedly, therefore, she rose
until presently her craft broke through into the glorious sunlight that
transformed the upper surface of the somber element into rolling masses
of burnished silver. Here it was still cold, but without the dampness
of the clouds, and in the eye of the brilliant sun her spirits rose
with the mounting needle of her altimeter. Gazing at the clouds, now
far beneath, the girl experienced the sensation of hanging stationary
in mid-heaven; but the whirring of her propellor, the wind beating upon
her, the high figures that rose and fell beneath the glass of her
speedometer, these told her that her speed was terrific. It was then
that she determined to turn back.

The first attempt she made above the clouds, but it was unsuccessful.
To her surprise she discovered that she could not even turn against the
high wind, which rocked and buffeted the frail craft. Then she dropped
swiftly to the dark and wind-swept zone between the hurtling clouds and
the gloomy surface of the shadowed ground. Here she tried again to
force the nose of the flier back toward Helium, but the tempest seized
the frail thing and hurled it remorselessly about, rolling it over and
over and tossing it as it were a cork in a cataract. At last the girl
succeeded in righting the flier, perilously close to the ground. Never
before had she been so close to death, yet she was not terrified. Her
coolness had saved her, that and the strength of the deck lashings that
held her. Traveling with the storm she was safe, but where was it
bearing her? She pictured the apprehension of her father and mother
when she failed to appear at the morning meal. They would find her
flier missing and they would guess that somewhere in the path of the
storm it lay a wrecked and tangled mass upon her dead body, and then
brave men would go out in search of her, risking their lives; and that
lives would be lost in the search, she knew, for she realized now that
never in her life-time had such a tempest raged upon Barsoom.

She must turn back! She must reach Helium before her mad lust for
thrills had cost the sacrifice of a single courageous life! She
determined that greater safety and likelihood of success lay above the
clouds, and once again she rose through the chilling, wind-tossed
vapor. Her speed again was terrific, for the wind seemed to have
increased rather than to have lessened. She sought gradually to check
the swift flight of her craft, but though she finally succeeded in
reversing her motor the wind but carried her on as it would. Then it
was that Tara of Helium lost her temper. Had her world not always bowed
in acquiescence to her every wish? What were these elements that they
dared to thwart her? She would demonstrate to them that the daughter of
The Warlord was not to be denied! They would learn that Tara of Helium
might not be ruled even by the forces of nature!

And so she drove her motor forward again and then with her firm, white
teeth set in grim determination she drove the steering lever far down
to port with the intention of forcing the nose of her craft straight
into the teeth of the wind, and the wind seized the frail thing and
toppled it over upon its back, and twisted and turned it and hurled it
over and over; the propellor raced for an instant in an air pocket and
then the tempest seized it again and twisted it from its shaft, leaving
the girl helpless upon an unmanageable atom that rose and fell, and
rolled and tumbled—the sport of the elements she had defied. Tara of
Helium's first sensation was one of surprise—that she had failed to
have her own way. Then she commenced to feel concern—not for her own
safety but for the anxiety of her parents and the dangers that the
inevitable searchers must face. She reproached herself for the
thoughtless selfishness that had jeopardized the peace and safety of
others. She realized her own grave danger, too; but she was still
unterrified, as befitted the daughter of Dejah Thoris and John Carter.
She knew that her buoyancy tanks might keep her afloat indefinitely,
but she had neither food nor water, and she was being borne toward the
least-known area of Barsoom. Perhaps it would be better to land
immediately and await the coming of the searchers, rather than to allow
herself to be carried still further from Helium, thus greatly reducing
the chances of early discovery; but when she dropped toward the ground
she discovered that the violence of the wind rendered an attempt to
land tantamount to destruction and she rose again, rapidly.

Carried along a few hundred feet above the ground she was better able
to appreciate the Titanic proportions of the storm than when she had
flown in the comparative serenity of the zone above the clouds, for now
she could distinctly see the effect of the wind upon the surface of
Barsoom. The air was filled with dust and flying bits of vegetation and
when the storm carried her across an irrigated area of farm land she
saw great trees and stone walls and buildings lifted high in air and
scattered broadcast over the devastated country; and then she was
carried swiftly on to other sights that forced in upon her
consciousness a rapidly growing conviction that after all Tara of
Helium was a very small and insignificant and helpless person. It was
quite a shock to her self-pride while it lasted, and toward evening she
was ready to believe that it was going to last forever. There had been
no abatement in the ferocity of the tempest, nor was there indication
of any. She could only guess at the distance she had been carried for
she could not believe in the correctness of the high figures that had
been piled upon the record of her odometer. They seemed unbelievable
and yet, had she known it, they were quite true—in twelve hours she
had flown and been carried by the storm full seven thousand haads. Just
before dark she was carried over one of the deserted cities of ancient
Mars. It was Torquas, but she did not know it. Had she, she might
readily have been forgiven for abandoning the last vestige of hope, for
to the people of Helium Torquas seems as remote as do the South Sea
Islands to us. And still the tempest, its fury unabated, bore her on.

All that night she hurtled through the dark beneath the clouds, or rose
to race through the moonlit void beneath the glory of Barsoom's two
satellites. She was cold and hungry and altogether miserable, but her
brave little spirit refused to admit that her plight was hopeless even
though reason proclaimed the truth. Her reply to reason, sometime
spoken aloud in sudden defiance, recalled the Spartan stubbornness of
her sire in the face of certain annihilation: "I still live!"

That morning there had been an early visitor at the palace of The
Warlord. It was Gahan, Jed of Gathol. He had arrived shortly after the
absence of Tara of Helium had been noted, and in the excitement he had
remained unannounced until John Carter had happened upon him in the
great reception corridor of the palace as The Warlord was hurrying out
to arrange for the dispatch of ships in search of his daughter.

Gahan read the concern upon the face of The Warlord. "Forgive me if I
intrude, John Carter," he said. "I but came to ask the indulgence of
another day since it would be fool-hardy to attempt to navigate a ship
in such a storm."

"Remain, Gahan, a welcome guest until you choose to leave us," replied
The Warlord; "but you must forgive any seeming inattention upon the
part of Helium until my daughter is restored to us."

"You daughter! Restored! What do you mean?" exclaimed the Gatholian. "I
do not understand."

"She is gone, together with her light flier. That is all we know. We
can only assume that she decided to fly before the morning meal and was
caught in the clutches of the tempest. You will pardon me, Gahan, if I
leave you abruptly—I am arranging to send ships in search of her;" but
Gahan, Jed of Gathol, was already speeding in the direction of the
palace gate. There he leaped upon a waiting thoat and followed by two
warriors in the metal of Gathol, he dashed through the avenues of
Helium toward the palace that had been set aside for his entertainment.

CHAPTER III

THE HEADLESS HUMANS

Above the roof of the palace that housed the Jed of Gathol and his
entourage, the cruiser Vanator tore at her stout moorings. The groaning
tackle bespoke the mad fury of the gale, while the worried faces of
those members of the crew whose duties demanded their presence on the
straining craft gave corroborative evidence of the gravity of the
situation. Only stout lashings prevented these men from being swept
from the deck, while those upon the roof below were constantly
compelled to cling to rails and stanchions to save themselves from
being carried away by each new burst of meteoric fury. Upon the prow of
the Vanator was painted the device of Gathol, but no pennants were
displayed in the upper works since the storm had carried away several
in rapid succession, just as it seemed to the watching men that it must
carry away the ship itself. They could not believe that any tackle
could withstand for long this Titanic force. To each of the twelve
lashings clung a brawny warrior with drawn short-sword. Had but a
single mooring given to the power of the tempest eleven short-swords
would have cut the others; since, partially moored, the ship was
doomed, while free in the tempest it stood at least some slight chance
for life.

"By the blood of Issus, I believe they will hold!" screamed one warrior
to another.

"And if they do not hold may the spirits of our ancestors reward the
brave warriors upon the Vanator," replied another of those upon the
roof of the palace, "for it will not be long from the moment her cables
part before her crew dons the leather of the dead; but yet, Tanus, I
believe they will hold. Give thanks at least that we did not sail
before the tempest fell, since now each of us has a chance to live."

"Yes," replied Tanus, "I should hate to be abroad today upon the
stoutest ship that sails the Barsoomian sky."

It was then that Gahan the Jed appeared upon the roof. With him were
the balance of his own party and a dozen warriors of Helium. The young
chief turned to his followers.

"I sail at once upon the Vanator," he said, "in search of Tara of
Helium who is thought to have been carried away upon a one-man flier by
the storm. I do not need to explain to you the slender chances the
Vanator has to withstand the fury of the tempest, nor will I order you
to your deaths. Let those who wish remain behind without dishonor. The
others will follow me," and he leaped for the rope ladder that lashed
wildly in the gale.

The first man to follow him was Tanus and when the last reached the
deck of the cruiser there remained upon the palace roof only the twelve
warriors of Helium, who, with naked swords, had taken the posts of the
Gatholians at the moorings.

Not a single warrior who had remained aboard the Vanator would leave
her now.

"I expected no less," said Gahan, as with the help of those already on
the deck he and the others found secure lashings. The commander of the
Vanator shook his head. He loved his trim craft, the pride of her class
in the little navy of Gathol. It was of her he thought—not of himself.
He saw her lying torn and twisted upon the ochre vegetation of some
distant sea-bottom, to be presently overrun and looted by some savage,
green horde. He looked at Gahan.

"Are you ready, San Tothis?" asked the jed.

"All is ready."

"Then cut away!"

Word was passed across the deck and over the side to the Heliumetic
warriors below that at the third gun they were to cut away. Twelve keen
swords must strike simultaneously and with equal power, and each must
sever completely and instantly three strands of heavy cable that no
loose end fouling a block bring immediate disaster upon the Vanator.

Boom! The voice of the signal gun rolled down through the screaming
wind to the twelve warriors upon the roof. Boom! Twelve swords were
raised above twelve brawny shoulders. Boom! Twelve keen edges severed
twelve complaining moorings, clean and as one.

The Vanator, her propellors whirling, shot forward with the storm. The
tempest struck her in the stern as with a mailed fist and stood the
great ship upon her nose, and then it caught her and spun her as a
child's top spins; and upon the palace roof the twelve men looked on in
silent helplessness and prayed for the souls of the brave warriors who
were going to their death. And others saw, from Helium's lofty landing
stages and from a thousand hangars upon a thousand roofs; but only for
an instant did the preparations stop that would send other brave men
into the frightful maelstrom of that apparently hopeless search, for
such is the courage of the warriors of Barsoom.

But the Vanator did not fall to the ground, within sight of the city at
least, though as long as the watchers could see her never for an
instant did she rest upon an even keel. Sometimes she lay upon one side
or the other, or again she hurtled along keel up, or rolled over and
over, or stood upon her nose or her tail at the caprice of the great
force that carried her along. And the watchers saw that this great ship
was merely being blown away with the other bits of debris great and
small that filled the sky. Never in the memory of man or the annals of
recorded history had such a storm raged across the face of Barsoom.

And in another instant was the Vanator forgotten as the lofty, scarlet
tower that had marked Lesser Helium for ages crashed to ground,
carrying death and demolition upon the city beneath. Panic reigned. A
fire broke out in the ruins. The city's every force seemed crippled,
and it was then that The Warlord ordered the men that were about to set
forth in search of Tara of Helium to devote their energies to the
salvation of the city, for he too had witnessed the start of the
Vanator and realized the futility of wasting men who were needed sorely
if Lesser Helium was to be saved from utter destruction.

Shortly after noon of the second day the storm commenced to abate, and
before the sun went down, the little craft upon which Tara of Helium
had hovered between life and death these many hours drifted slowly
before a gentle breeze above a landscape of rolling hills that once had
been lofty mountains upon a Martian continent. The girl was exhausted
from loss of sleep, from lack of food and drink, and from the nervous
reaction consequent to the terrifying experiences through which she had
passed. In the near distance, just topping an intervening hill, she
caught a momentary glimpse of what appeared to be a dome-capped tower.
Quickly she dropped the flier until the hill shut it off from the view
of the possible occupants of the structure she had seen. The tower
meant to her the habitation of man, suggesting the presence of water
and, perhaps, of food. If the tower was the deserted relic of a bygone
age she would scarcely find food there, but there was still a chance
that there might be water. If it was inhabited, then must her approach
be cautious, for only enemies might be expected to abide in so far
distant a land. Tara of Helium knew that she must be far from the twin
cities of her grandfather's empire, but had she guessed within even a
thousand haads of the reality, she had been stunned by realization of
the utter hopelessness of her state.

Keeping the craft low, for the buoyancy tanks were still intact, the
girl skimmed the ground until the gently-moving wind had carried her to
the side of the last hill that intervened between her and the structure
she had thought a man-built tower. Here she brought the flier to the
ground among some stunted trees, and dragging it beneath one where it
might be somewhat hidden from craft passing above, she made it fast and
set forth to reconnoiter. Like most women of her class she was armed
only with a single slender blade, so that in such an emergency as now
confronted her she must depend almost solely upon her cleverness in
remaining undiscovered by enemies. With utmost caution she crept warily
toward the crest of the hill, taking advantage of every natural screen
that the landscape afforded to conceal her approach from possible
observers ahead, while momentarily she cast quick glances rearward lest
she be taken by surprise from that quarter.

She came at last to the summit, where, from the concealment of a low
bush, she could see what lay beyond. Beneath her spread a beautiful
valley surrounded by low hills. Dotting it were numerous circular
towers, dome-capped, and surrounding each tower was a stone wall
enclosing several acres of ground. The valley appeared to be in a high
state of cultivation. Upon the opposite side of the hill and just
beneath her was a tower and enclosure. It was the roof of the former
that had first attracted her attention. In all respects it seemed
identical in construction with those further out in the valley—a high,
plastered wall of massive construction surrounding a similarly
constructed tower, upon whose gray surface was painted in vivid colors
a strange device. The towers were about forty sofads in diameter,
approximately forty earth-feet, and sixty in height to the base of the
dome. To an Earth man they would have immediately suggested the silos
in which dairy farmers store ensilage for their herds; but closer
scrutiny, revealing an occasional embrasured opening together with the
strange construction of the domes, would have altered such a
conclusion. Tara of Helium saw that the domes seemed to be faced with
innumerable prisms of glass, those that were exposed to the declining
sun scintillating so gorgeously as to remind her suddenly of the
magnificent trappings of Gahan of Gathol. As she thought of the man she
shook her head angrily, and moved cautiously forward a foot or two that
she might get a less obstructed view of the nearer tower and its
enclosure.

As Tara of Helium looked down into the enclosure surrounding the
nearest tower, her brows contracted momentarily in frowning surprise,
and then her eyes went wide in an expression of incredulity tinged with
horror, for what she saw was a score or two of human bodies—naked and
headless. For a long moment she watched, breathless; unable to believe
the evidence of her own eyes—that these grewsome things moved and had
life! She saw them crawling about on hands and knees over and across
one another, searching about with their fingers. And she saw some of
them at troughs, for which the others seemed to be searching, and those
at the troughs were taking something from these receptacles and
apparently putting it in a hole where their necks should have been.
They were not far beneath her—she could see them distinctly and she
saw that there were the bodies of both men and women, and that they
were beautifully proportioned, and that their skin was similar to hers,
but of a slightly lighter red. At first she had thought that she was
looking upon a shambles and that the bodies, but recently decapitated,
were moving under the impulse of muscular reaction; but presently she
realized that this was their normal condition. The horror of them
fascinated her, so that she could scarce take her eyes from them. It
was evident from their groping hands that they were eyeless, and their
sluggish movements suggested a rudimentary nervous system and a
correspondingly minute brain. The girl wondered how they subsisted for
she could not, even by the wildest stretch of imagination, picture
these imperfect creatures as intelligent tillers of the soil. Yet that
the soil of the valley was tilled was evident and that these things had
food was equally so. But who tilled the soil? Who kept and fed these
unhappy things, and for what purpose? It was an enigma beyond her
powers of deduction.

The sight of food aroused again a consciousness of her own gnawing
hunger and the thirst that parched her throat. She could see both food
and water within the enclosure; but would she dare enter even should
she find means of ingress? She doubted it, since the very thought of
possible contact with these grewsome creatures sent a shudder through
her frame.

Then her eyes wandered again out across the valley until presently they
picked out what appeared to be a tiny stream winding its way through
the center of the farm lands—a strange sight upon Barsoom. Ah, if it
were but water! Then might she hope with a real hope, for the fields
would give her sustenance which she could gain by night, while by day
she hid among the surrounding hills, and sometime, yes, sometime she
knew, the searchers would come, for John Carter, Warlord of Barsoom,
would never cease to search for his daughter until every square haad of
the planet had been combed again and again. She knew him and she knew
the warriors of Helium and so she knew that could she but manage to
escape harm until they came, they would indeed come at last.

She would have to wait until dark before she dare venture into the
valley, and in the meantime she thought it well to search out a place
of safety nearby where she might be reasonably safe from savage beasts.
It was possible that the district was free from carnivora, but one
might never be sure in a strange land. As she was about to withdraw
behind the brow of the hill her attention was again attracted to the
enclosure below. Two figures had emerged from the tower. Their
beautiful bodies seemed identical with those of the headless creatures
among which they moved, but the newcomers were not headless. Upon their
shoulders were heads that seemed human, yet which the girl intuitively
sensed were not human. They were just a trifle too far away for her to
see them distinctly in the waning light of the dying day, but she knew
that they were too large, they were out of proportion to the perfectly
proportioned bodies, and they were oblate in form. She could see that
the men wore some manner of harness to which were slung the customary
long-sword and short-sword of the Barsoomian warrior, and that about
their short necks were massive leather collars cut to fit closely over
the shoulders and snugly to the lower part of the head. Their features
were scarce discernible, but there was a suggestion of grotesqueness
about them that carried to her a feeling of revulsion.

The two carried a long rope to which were fastened, at intervals of
about two sofads, what she later guessed were light manacles, for she
saw the warriors passing among the poor creatures in the enclosure and
about the right wrist of each they fastened one of the manacles. When
all had been thus fastened to the rope one of the warriors commenced to
pull and tug at the loose end as though attempting to drag the headless
company toward the tower, while the other went among them with a long,
light whip with which he flicked them upon the naked skin. Slowly,
dully, the creatures rose to their feet and between the tugging of the
warrior in front and the lashing of him behind the hopeless band was
finally herded within the tower. Tara of Helium shuddered as she turned
away. What manner of creatures were these?

Suddenly it was night. The Barsoomian day had ended, and then the brief
period of twilight that renders the transition from daylight to
darkness almost as abrupt as the switching off of an electric light,
and Tara of Helium had found no sanctuary. But perhaps there were no
beasts to fear, or rather to avoid—Tara of Helium liked not the word
fear. She would have been glad, however, had there been a cabin, even a
very tiny cabin, upon her small flier; but there was no cabin. The
interior of the hull was completely taken up by the buoyancy tanks. Ah,
she had it! How stupid of her not to have thought of it before! She
could moor the craft to the tree beneath which it rested and let it
rise the length of the rope. Lashed to the deck rings she would then be
safe from any roaming beast of prey that chanced along. In the morning
she could drop to the ground again before the craft was discovered.

As Tara of Helium crept over the brow of the hill down toward the
valley, her presence was hidden by the darkness of the night from the
sight of any chance observer who might be loitering by a window in the
nearby tower. Cluros, the farther moon, was just rising above the
horizon to commence his leisurely journey through the heavens. Eight
zodes later he would set—a trifle over nineteen and a half Earth
hours—and during that time Thuria, his vivacious mate, would have
circled the planet twice and be more than half way around on her third
trip. She had but just set. It would be more than three and a half
hours before she shot above the opposite horizon to hurtle, swift and
low, across the face of the dying planet. During this temporary absence
of the mad moon Tara of Helium hoped to find both food and water, and
gain again the safety of her flier's deck.

She groped her way through the darkness, giving the tower and its
enclosure as wide a berth as possible. Sometimes she stumbled, for in
the long shadows cast by the rising Cluros objects were grotesquely
distorted though the light from the moon was still not sufficient to be
of much assistance to her. Nor, as a matter of fact, did she want
light. She could find the stream in the dark, by the simple expedient
of going down hill until she walked into it and she had seen that
bearing trees and many crops grew throughout the valley, so that she
would pass food in plenty ere she reached the stream. If the moon
showed her the way more clearly and thus saved her from an occasional
fall, he would, too, show her more clearly to the strange denizens of
the towers, and that, of course, must not be. Could she have waited
until the following night conditions would have been better, since
Cluros would not appear in the heavens at all and so, during Thuria's
absence, utter darkness would reign; but the pangs of thirst and the
gnawing of hunger could be endured no longer with food and drink both
in sight, and so she had decided to risk discovery rather than suffer
longer.

Safely past the nearest tower, she moved as rapidly as she felt
consistent with safety, choosing her way wherever possible so that she
might take advantage of the shadows of the trees that grew at intervals
and at the same time discover those which bore fruit. In this latter
she met with almost immediate success, for the very third tree beneath
which she halted was heavy with ripe fruit. Never, thought Tara of
Helium, had aught so delicious impinged upon her palate, and yet it was
naught else than the almost tasteless usa, which is considered to be
palatable only after having been cooked and highly spiced. It grows
easily with little irrigation and the trees bear abundantly. The fruit,
which ranks high in food value, is one of the staple foods of the less
well-to-do, and because of its cheapness and nutritive value forms one
of the principal rations of both armies and navies upon Barsoom, a use
which has won for it a Martian sobriquet which, freely translated into
English, would be, The Fighting Potato. The girl was wise enough to eat
but sparingly, but she filled her pocket-pouch with the fruit before
she continued upon her way.

Two towers she passed before she came at last to the stream, and here
again was she temperate, drinking but little and that very slowly,
contenting herself with rinsing her mouth frequently and bathing her
face, her hands, and her feet; and even though the night was cold, as
Martian nights are, the sensation of refreshment more than compensated
for the physical discomfort of the low temperature. Replacing her
sandals she sought among the growing track near the stream for whatever
edible berries or tubers might be planted there, and found a couple of
varieties that could be eaten raw. With these she replaced some of the
usa in her pocket-pouch, not only to insure a variety but because she
found them more palatable. Occasionally she returned to the stream to
drink, but each time moderately. Always were her eyes and ears alert
for the first signs of danger, but she had neither seen nor heard aught
to disturb her. And presently the time approached when she felt she
must return to her flier lest she be caught in the revealing light of
low swinging Thuria. She dreaded leaving the water for she knew that
she must become very thirsty before she could hope to come again to the
stream. If she only had some little receptacle in which to carry water,
even a small amount would tide her over until the following night; but
she had nothing and so she must content herself as best she could with
the juices of the fruit and tubers she had gathered.

After a last drink at the stream, the longest and deepest she had
allowed herself, she rose to retrace her steps toward the hills; but
even as she did so she became suddenly tense with apprehension. What
was that? She could have sworn that she saw something move in the
shadows beneath a tree not far away. For a long minute the girl did not
move—she scarce breathed. Her eyes remained fixed upon the dense
shadows below the tree, her ears strained through the silence of the
night. A low moaning came down from the hills where her flier was
hidden. She knew it well—the weird note of the hunting banth. And the
great carnivore lay directly in her path. But he was not so close as
this other thing, hiding there in the shadows just a little way off.
What was it? It was the strain of uncertainty that weighed heaviest
upon her. Had she known the nature of the creature lurking there half
its menace would have vanished. She cast quickly about her in search of
some haven of refuge should the thing prove dangerous.

Again arose the moaning from the hills, but this time closer. Almost
immediately it was answered from the opposite side of the valley,
behind her, and then from the distance to the right of her, and twice
upon her left. Her eyes had found a tree, quite near. Slowly, and
without taking her eyes from the shadows of that other tree, she moved
toward the overhanging branches that might afford her sanctuary in the
event of need, and at her first move a low growl rose from the spot she
had been watching and she heard the sudden moving of a big body.
Simultaneously the creature shot into the moonlight in full charge upon
her, its tail erect, its tiny ears laid flat, its great mouth with its
multiple rows of sharp and powerful fangs already yawning for its prey,
its ten legs carrying it forward in great leaps, and now from the
beast's throat issued the frightful roar with which it seeks to
paralyze its prey. It was a banth—the great, maned lion of Barsoom.
Tara of Helium saw it coming and leaped for the tree toward which she
had been moving, and the banth realized her intention and redoubled his
speed. As his hideous roar awakened the echoes in the hills, so too it
awakened echoes in the valley; but these echoes came from the living
throats of others of his kind, until it seemed to the girl that Fate
had thrown her into the midst of a countless multitude of these savage
beasts.

Almost incredibly swift is the speed of a charging banth, and fortunate
it was that the girl had not been caught farther in the open. As it
was, her margin of safety was next to negligible, for as she swung
nimbly to the lower branches the creature in pursuit of her crashed
among the foliage almost upon her as it sprang upward to seize her. It
was only a combination of good fortune and agility that saved her. A
stout branch deflected the raking talons of the carnivore, but so close
was the call that a giant forearm brushed her flesh in the instant
before she scrambled to the higher branches.

Baffled, the banth gave vent to his rage and disappointment in a series
of frightful roars that caused the very ground to tremble, and to these
were added the roarings and the growlings and the moanings of his
fellows as they approached from every direction, in the hope of
wresting from him whatever of his kill they could take by craft or
prowess. And now he turned snarling upon them as they circled the tree,
while the girl, huddled in a crotch above them, looked down upon the
gaunt, yellow monsters padding on noiseless feet in a restless circle
about her. She wondered now at the strange freak of fate that had
permitted her to come down this far into the valley by night unharmed,
but even more she wondered how she was to return to the hills. She knew
that she would not dare venture it by night and she guessed, too, that
by day she might be confronted by even graver perils. To depend upon
this valley for sustenance she now saw to be beyond the pale of
possibility because of the banths that would keep her from food and
water by night, while the dwellers in the towers would doubtless make
it equally impossible for her to forage by day. There was but one
solution of her difficulty and that was to return to her flier and pray
that the wind would waft her to some less terrorful land; but when
might she return to the flier? The banths gave little evidence of
relinquishing hope of her, and even if they wandered out of sight would
she dare risk the attempt? She doubted it.

Hopeless indeed seemed her situation—hopeless it was.

CHAPTER IV

CAPTURED

As Thuria, swift racer of the night, shot again into the sky the scene
changed. As by magic a new aspect fell athwart the face of Nature. It
was as though in the instant one had been transported from one planet
to another. It was the age-old miracle of the Martian nights that is
always new, even to Martians—two moons resplendent in the heavens,
where one had been but now; conflicting, fast-changing shadows that
altered the very hills themselves; far Cluros, stately, majestic,
almost stationary, shedding his steady light upon the world below;
Thuria, a great and glorious orb, swinging swift across the vaulted
dome of the blue-black night, so low that she seemed to graze the
hills, a gorgeous spectacle that held the girl now beneath the spell of
its enchantment as it always had and always would.

"Ah, Thuria, mad queen of heaven!" murmured Tara of Helium. "The hills
pass in stately procession, their bosoms rising and falling; the trees
move in restless circles; the little grasses describe their little
arcs; and all is movement, restless, mysterious movement without sound,
while Thuria passes." The girl sighed and let her gaze fall again to
the stern realities beneath. There was no mystery in the huge banths.
He who had discovered her squatted there looking hungrily up at her.
Most of the others had wandered away in search of other prey, but a few
remained hoping yet to bury their fangs in that soft body.

The night wore on. Again Thuria left the heavens to her lord and
master, hurrying on to keep her tryst with the Sun in other skies. But
a single banth waited impatiently beneath the tree which harbored Tara
of Helium. The others had left, but their roars, and growls, and moans
thundered or rumbled, or floated back to her from near and far. What
prey found they in this little valley? There must be something that
they were accustomed to find here that they should be drawn in so great
numbers. The girl wondered what it could be.

How long the night! Numb, cold, and exhausted, Tara of Helium clung to
the tree in growing desperation, for once she had dozed and almost
fallen. Hope was low in her brave little heart. How much more could she
endure? She asked herself the question and then, with a brave shake of
her head, she squared her shoulders. "I still live!" she said aloud.

The banth looked up and growled.

Came Thuria again and after awhile the great Sun—a flaming lover,
pursuing his heart's desire. And Cluros, the cold husband, continued
his serene way, as placid as before his house had been violated by this
hot Lothario. And now the Sun and both Moons rode together in the sky,
lending their far mysteries to make weird the Martian dawn. Tara of
Helium looked out across the fair valley that spread upon all sides of
her. It was rich and beautiful, but even as she looked upon it she
shuddered, for to her mind came a picture of the headless things that
the towers and the walls hid. Those by day and the banths by night! Ah,
was it any wonder that she shuddered?

With the coming of the Sun the great Barsoomian lion rose to his feet.
He turned angry eyes upon the girl above him, voiced a single ominous
growl, and slunk away toward the hills. The girl watched him, and she
saw that he gave the towers as wide a berth as possible and that he
never took his eyes from one of them while he was passing it. Evidently
the inmates had taught these savage creatures to respect them.
Presently he passed from sight in a narrow defile, nor in any direction
that she could see was there another. Momentarily at least the
landscape was deserted. The girl wondered if she dared to attempt to
regain the hills and her flier. She dreaded the coming of the workmen
to the fields as she was sure they would come. She shrank from again
seeing the headless bodies, and found herself wondering if these things
would come out into the fields and work. She looked toward the nearest
tower. There was no sign of life there. The valley lay quiet now and
deserted. She lowered herself stiffly to the ground. Her muscles were
cramped and every move brought a twinge of pain. Pausing a moment to
drink again at the stream she felt refreshed and then turned without
more delay toward the hills. To cover the distance as quickly as
possible seemed the only plan to pursue. The trees no longer offered
concealment and so she did not go out of her way to be near them. The
hills seemed very far away. She had not thought, the night before, that
she had traveled so far. Really it had not been far, but now, with the
three towers to pass in broad daylight, the distance seemed great
indeed.

The second tower lay almost directly in her path. To make a detour
would not lessen the chance of detection, it would only lengthen the
period of her danger, and so she laid her course straight for the hill
where her flier was, regardless of the tower. As she passed the first
enclosure she thought that she heard the sound of movement within, but
the gate did not open and she breathed more easily when it lay behind
her. She came then to the second enclosure, the outer wall of which she
must circle, as it lay across her route. As she passed close along it
she distinctly heard not only movement within, but voices. In the
world-language of Barsoom she heard a man issuing instructions—so many
were to pick usa, so many were to irrigate this field, so many to
cultivate that, and so on, as a foreman lays out the day's work for his
crew.

Tara of Helium had just reached the gate in the outer wall. Without
warning it swung open toward her. She saw that for a moment it would
hide her from those within and in that moment she turned and ran,
keeping close to the wall, until, passing out of sight beyond the curve
of the structure, she came to the opposite side of the enclosure. Here,
panting from her exertion and from the excitement of her narrow escape,
she threw herself among some tall weeds that grew close to the foot of
the wall. There she lay trembling for some time, not even daring to
raise her head and look about. Never before had Tara of Helium felt the
paralyzing effects of terror. She was shocked and angry at herself,
that she, daughter of John Carter, Warlord of Barsoom, should exhibit
fear. Not even the fact that there had been none there to witness it
lessened her shame and anger, and the worst of it was she knew that
under similar circumstances she would again be equally as craven. It
was not the fear of death—she knew that. No, it was the thought of
those headless bodies and that she might see them and that they might
even touch her—lay hands upon her—seize her. She shuddered and
trembled at the thought.

After a while she gained sufficient command of herself to raise her
head and look about. To her horror she discovered that everywhere she
looked she saw people working in the fields or preparing to do so.
Workmen were coming from other towers. Little bands were passing to
this field and that. There were even some already at work within thirty
ads of her—about a hundred yards. There were ten, perhaps, in the
party nearest her, both men and women, and all were beautiful of form
and grotesque of face. So meager were their trappings that they were
practically naked; a fact that was in no way remarkable among the
tillers of the fields of Mars. Each wore the peculiar, high leather
collar that completely hid the neck, and each wore sufficient other
leather to support a single sword and a pocket-pouch. The leather was
very old and worn, showing long, hard service, and was absolutely plain
with the exception of a single device upon the left shoulder. The
heads, however, were covered with ornaments of precious metals and
jewels, so that little more than eyes, nose, and mouth were
discernible. These were hideously inhuman and yet grotesquely human at
the same time. The eyes were far apart and protruding, the nose scarce
more than two small, parallel slits set vertically above a round hole
that was the mouth. The heads were peculiarly repulsive—so much so
that it seemed unbelievable to the girl that they formed an integral
part of the beautiful bodies below them.

So fascinated was Tara of Helium that she could scarce take her eyes
from the strange creatures—a fact that was to prove her undoing, for
in order that she might see them she was forced to expose a part of her
own head and presently, to her consternation, she saw that one of the
creatures had stopped his work and was staring directly at her. She did
not dare move, for it was still possible that the thing had not seen
her, or at least was only suspicious that some creature lay hid among
the weeds. If she could allay this suspicion by remaining motionless
the creature might believe that he had been mistaken and return to his
work; but, alas, such was not to be the case. She saw the thing call
the attention of others to her and almost immediately four or five of
them started to move in her direction.

It was impossible now to escape discovery. Her only hope lay in flight.
If she could elude them and reach the hills and the flier ahead of them
she might escape, and that could be accomplished in but one
way—flight, immediate and swift. Leaping to her feet she darted along
the base of the wall which she must skirt to the opposite side, beyond
which lay the hill that was her goal. Her act was greeted by strange
whistling sounds from the things behind her, and casting a glance over
her shoulder she saw them all in rapid pursuit.

There were also shrill commands that she halt, but to these she paid no
attention. Before she had half circled the enclosure she discovered
that her chances for successful escape were great, since it was evident
to her that her pursuers were not so fleet as she. High indeed then
were her hopes as she came in sight of the hill, but they were soon
dashed by what lay before her, for there, in the fields that lay
between, were fully a hundred creatures similar to those behind her and
all were on the alert, evidently warned by the whistling of their
fellows. Instructions and commands were shouted to and fro, with the
result that those before her spread roughly into a great half circle to
intercept her, and when she turned to the right, hoping to elude the
net, she saw others coming from fields beyond, and to the left the same
was true. But Tara of Helium would not admit defeat. Without once
pausing she turned directly toward the center of the advancing
semi-circle, beyond which lay her single chance of escape, and as she
ran she drew her long, slim dagger. Like her valiant sire, if die she
must, she would die fighting. There were gaps in the thin line
confronting her and toward the widest of one of these she directed her
course. The things on either side of the opening guessed her intent for
they closed in to place themselves in her path. This widened the
openings on either side of them and as the girl appeared almost to rush
into their arms she turned suddenly at right angles, ran swiftly in the
new direction for a few yards, and then dashed quickly toward the hill
again. Now only a single warrior, with a wide gap on either side of
him, barred her clear way to freedom, though all the others were
speeding as rapidly as they could to intercept her. If she could pass
this one without too much delay she could escape, of that she was
certain. Her every hope hinged on this. The creature before her
realized it, too, for he moved cautiously, though swiftly, to intercept
her, as a Rugby fullback might maneuver in the realization that he
alone stood between the opposing team and a touchdown.

At first Tara of Helium had hoped that she might dodge him, for she
could not but guess that she was not only more fleet but infinitely
more agile than these strange creatures; but soon there came to her the
realization that in the time consumed in an attempt to elude his grasp
his nearer fellows would be upon her and escape then impossible, so she
chose instead to charge straight for him, and when he guessed her
decision he stood, half crouching and with outstretched arms, awaiting
her. In one hand was his sword, but a voice arose, crying in tones of
authority. "Take her alive! Do not harm her!" Instantly the fellow
returned his sword to its scabbard and then Tara of Helium was upon
him. Straight for that beautiful body she sprang and in the instant
that the arms closed to seize her her sharp blade drove deep into the
naked chest. The impact hurled them both to the ground and as Tara of
Helium sprang to her feet again she saw, to her horror, that the
loathsome head had rolled from the body and was now crawling away from
her on six short, spider-like legs. The body struggled spasmodically
and lay still. As brief as had been the delay caused by the encounter,
it still had been of sufficient duration to undo her, for even as she
rose two more of the things fell upon her and instantly thereafter she
was surrounded. Her blade sank once more into naked flesh and once more
a head rolled free and crawled away. Then they overpowered her and in
another moment she was surrounded by fully a hundred of the creatures,
all seeking to lay hands upon her. At first she thought that they
wished to tear her to pieces in revenge for her having slain two of
their fellows, but presently she realized that they were prompted more
by curiosity than by any sinister motive.

"Come!" said one of her captors, both of whom had retained a hold upon
her. As he spoke he tried to lead her away with him toward the nearest
tower.

"She belongs to me," cried the other. "Did not I capture her? She will
come with me to the tower of Moak."

"Never!" insisted the first. "She is Luud's. To Luud I will take her,
and whosoever interferes may feel the keenness of my sword—in the
head!" He almost shouted the last three words.

"Come! Enough of this," cried one who spoke with some show of
authority. "She was captured in Luud's fields—she will go to Luud."

"She was discovered in Moak's fields, at the very foot of the tower of
Moak," insisted he who had claimed her for Moak.

"You have heard the Nolach speak," cried the Luud. "It shall be as he
says."

"Not while this Moak holds a sword," replied the other. "Rather will I
cut her in twain and take my half to Moak than to relinquish her all to
Luud," and he drew his sword, or rather he laid his hand upon its hilt
in a threatening gesture; but before ever he could draw it the Luud had
whipped his out and with a fearful blow cut deep into the head of his
adversary. Instantly the big, round head collapsed, almost as a
punctured balloon collapses, as a grayish, semi-fluid matter spurted
from it. The protruding eyes, apparently lidless, merely stared, the
sphincter-like muscle of the mouth opened and closed, and then the head
toppled from the body to the ground. The body stood dully for a moment
and then slowly started to wander aimlessly about until one of the
others seized it by the arm.

One of the two heads crawling about on the ground now approached. "This
rykor belongs to Moak," it said. "I am a Moak. I will take it," and
without further discussion it commenced to crawl up the front of the
headless body, using its six short, spiderlike legs and two stout
chelae which grew just in front of its legs and strongly resembled
those of an Earthly lobster, except that they were both of the same
size. The body in the meantime stood in passive indifference, its arms
hanging idly at its sides. The head climbed to the shoulders and
settled itself inside the leather collar that now hid its chelae and
legs. Almost immediately the body gave evidence of intelligent
animation. It raised its hands and adjusted the collar more
comfortably, it took the head between its palms and settled it in place
and when it moved around it did not wander aimlessly, but instead its
steps were firm and to some purpose.

The girl watched all these things in growing wonder, and presently, no
other of the Moaks seeming inclined to dispute the right of the Luud to
her, she was led off by her captor toward the nearest tower. Several
accompanied them, including one who carried the loose head under his
arm. The head that was being carried conversed with the head upon the
shoulders of the thing that carried it. Tara of Helium shivered. It was
horrible! All that she had seen of these frightful creatures was
horrible. And to be a prisoner, wholly in their power. Shadow of her
first ancestor! What had she done to deserve so cruel a fate?

At the wall enclosing the tower they paused while one opened the gate
and then they passed within the enclosure, which, to the girl's horror,
she found filled with headless bodies. The creature who carried the
bodiless head now set its burden upon the ground and the latter
immediately crawled toward one of the bodies that was lying near by.
Some wandered stupidly to and fro, but this one lay still. It was a
female. The head crawled to it and made its way to the shoulders where
it settled itself. At once the body sprang lightly erect. Another of
those who had accompanied them from the fields approached with the
harness and collar that had been taken from the dead body that the head
had formerly topped. The new body now appropriated these and the hands
deftly adjusted them. The creature was now as good as before Tara of
Helium had struck down its former body with her slim blade. But there
was a difference. Before it had been male—now it was female. That,
however, seemed to make no difference to the head. In fact, Tara of
Helium had noticed during the scramble and the fight about her that sex
differences seemed of little moment to her captors. Males and females
had taken equal part in her pursuit, both were identically harnessed
and both carried swords, and she had seen as many females as males draw
their weapons at the moment that a quarrel between the two factions
seemed imminent.

The girl was given but brief opportunity for further observation of the
pitiful creatures in the enclosure as her captor, after having directed
the others to return to the fields, led her toward the tower, which
they entered, passing into an apartment about ten feet wide and twenty
long, in one end of which was a stairway leading to an upper level and
in the other an opening to a similar stairway leading downward. The
chamber, though on a level with the ground, was brilliantly lighted by
windows in its inner wall, the light coming from a circular court in
the center of the tower. The walls of this court appeared to be faced
with what resembled glazed, white tile and the whole interior of it was
flooded with dazzling light, a fact which immediately explained to the
girl the purpose of the glass prisms of which the domes were
constructed. The stairways themselves were sufficient to cause remark,
since in nearly all Barsoomian architecture inclined runways are
utilized for purposes of communication between different levels, and
especially is this true of the more ancient forms and of those of
remote districts where fewer changes have come to alter the customs of
antiquity.

Down the stairway her captor led Tara of Helium. Down and down through
chambers still lighted from the brilliant well. Occasionally they
passed others going in the opposite direction and these always stopped
to examine the girl and ask questions of her captor.

"I know nothing but that she was found in the fields and that I caught
her after a fight in which she slew two rykors and in which I slew a
Moak, and that I take her to Luud, to whom, of course, she belongs. If
Luud wishes to question her that is for Luud to do—not for me." Thus
always he answered the curious.

Presently they reached a room from which a circular tunnel led away
from the tower, and into this the creature conducted her. The tunnel
was some seven feet in diameter and flattened on the bottom to form a
walk. For a hundred feet from the tower it was lined with the same
tile-like material of the light well and amply illuminated by reflected
light from that source. Beyond it was faced with stone of various
shapes and sizes, neatly cut and fitted together—a very fine mosaic
without a pattern. There were branches, too, and other tunnels which
crossed this, and occasionally openings not more than a foot in
diameter; these latter being usually close to the floor. Above each of
these smaller openings was painted a different device, while upon the
walls of the larger tunnels at all intersections and points of
convergence hieroglyphics appeared. These the girl could not read
though she guessed that they were the names of the tunnels, or notices
indicating the points to which they led. She tried to study some of
them out, but there was not a character that was familiar to her, which
seemed strange, since, while the written languages of the various
nations of Barsoom differ, it still is true that they have many
characters and words in common.

She had tried to converse with her guard but he had not seemed inclined
to talk with her and she had finally desisted. She could not but note
that he had offered her no indignities, nor had he been either
unnecessarily rough or in any way cruel. The fact that she had slain
two of the bodies with her dagger had apparently aroused no animosity
or desire for revenge in the minds of the strange heads that surmounted
the bodies—even those whose bodies had been killed. She did not try to
understand it, since she could not approach the peculiar relationship
between the heads and the bodies of these creatures from the basis of
any past knowledge or experience of her own. So far their treatment of
her seemed to augur naught that might arouse her fears. Perhaps, after
all, she had been fortunate to fall into the hands of these strange
people, who might not only protect her from harm, but even aid her in
returning to Helium. That they were repulsive and uncanny she could not
forget, but if they meant her no harm she could, at least, overlook
their repulsiveness. Renewed hope aroused within her a spirit of
greater cheerfulness, and it was almost blithely now that she moved at
the side of her weird companion. She even caught herself humming a gay
little tune that was then popular in Helium. The creature at her side
turned its expressionless eyes upon her.

"What is that noise that you are making?" it asked.

"I was but humming an air," she replied.

"'Humming an air,'" he repeated. "I do not know what you mean; but do
it again, I like it."

This time she sang the words, while her companion listened intently.
His face gave no indication of what was passing in that strange head.
It was as devoid of expression as that of a spider. It reminded her of
a spider. When she had finished he turned toward her again.

"That was different," he said. "I liked that better, even, than the
other. How do you do it?"

"Why," she said, "it is singing. Do you not know what song is?"

"No," he replied. "Tell me how you do it."

"It is difficult to explain," she told him, "since any explanation of
it presupposes some knowledge of melody and of music, while your very
question indicates that you have no knowledge of either."

"No," he said, "I do not know what you are talking about; but tell me
how you do it."

"It is merely the melodious modulations of my voice," she explained.
"Listen!" and again she sang.

"I do not understand," he insisted; "but I like it. Could you teach me
to do it?"

"I do not know, but I shall be glad to try."

"We will see what Luud does with you," he said. "If he does not want
you I will keep you and you shall teach me to make sounds like that."

At his request she sang again as they continued their way along the
winding tunnel, which was now lighted by occasional bulbs which
appeared to be similar to the radium bulbs with which she was familiar
and which were common to all the nations of Barsoom, insofar as she
knew, having been perfected at so remote a period that their very
origin was lost in antiquity. They consist, usually, of a hemispherical
bowl of heavy glass in which is packed a compound containing what,
according to John Carter, must be radium. The bowl is then cemented
into a metal plate with a heavily insulated back and the whole affair
set in the masonry of wall or ceiling as desired, where it gives off
light of greater or less intensity, according to the composition of the
filling material, for an almost incalculable period of time.

As they proceeded they met a greater number of the inhabitants of this
underground world, and the girl noted that among many of these the
metal and harness were more ornate than had been those of the workers
in the fields above. The heads and bodies, however, were similar, even
identical, she thought. No one offered her harm and she was now
experiencing a feeling of relief almost akin to happiness, when her
guide turned suddenly into an opening on the right side of the tunnel
and she found herself in a large, well lighted chamber.

CHAPTER V

THE PERFECT BRAIN

The song that had been upon her lips as she entered died there—frozen
by the sight of horror that met her eyes. In the center of the chamber
a headless body lay upon the floor—a body that had been partially
devoured—while over and upon it crawled a half a dozen heads upon
their short, spider legs, and they tore at the flesh of the woman with
their chelae and carried the bits to their awful mouths. They were
eating human flesh—eating it raw!

Tara of Helium gasped in horror and turning away covered her eyes with
her palms.

"Come!" said her captor. "What is the matter?"

"They are eating the flesh of the woman," she whispered in tones of
horror.

"Why not?" he inquired. "Did you suppose that we kept the rykor for
labor alone? Ah, no. They are delicious when kept and fattened.
Fortunate, too, are those that are bred for food, since they are never
called upon to do aught but eat."

"It is hideous!" she cried.

He looked at her steadily for a moment, but whether in surprise, in
anger, or in pity his expressionless face did not reveal. Then he led
her on across the room past the frightful thing, from which she turned
away her eyes. Lying about the floor near the walls were half a dozen
headless bodies in harness. These she guessed had been abandoned
temporarily by the feasting heads until they again required their
services. In the walls of this room there were many of the small, round
openings she had noticed in various parts of the tunnels, the purpose
of which she could not guess.

They passed through another corridor and then into a second chamber,
larger than the first and more brilliantly illuminated. Within were
several of the creatures with heads and bodies assembled, while many
headless bodies lay about near the walls. Here her captor halted and
spoke to one of the occupants of the chamber.

"I seek Luud," he said. "I bring to Luud a creature that I captured in
the fields above."

The others crowded about to examine Tara of Helium. One of them
whistled, whereupon the girl learned something of the smaller openings
in the walls, for almost immediately there crawled from them, like
giant spiders, a score or more of the hideous heads. Each sought one of
the recumbent bodies and fastened itself in place. Immediately the
bodies reacted to the intelligent direction of the heads. They arose,
the hands adjusted the leather collars and put the balance of the
harness in order, then the creatures crossed the room to where Tara of
Helium stood. She noted that their leather was more highly ornamented
than that worn by any of the others she had previously seen, and so she
guessed that these must be higher in authority than the others. Nor was
she mistaken. The demeanor of her captor indicated it. He addressed
them as one who holds intercourse with superiors.

Several of those who examined her felt her flesh, pinching it gently
between thumb and forefinger, a familiarity that the girl resented. She
struck down their hands. "Do not touch me!" she cried, imperiously, for
was she not a princess of Helium? The expression on those terrible
faces did not change. She could not tell whether they were angry or
amused, whether her action had filled them with respect for her, or
contempt. Only one of them spoke immediately.

"She will have to be fattened more," he said.

The girl's eyes went wide with horror. She turned upon her captor. "Do
these frightful creatures intend to devour me?" she cried.

"That is for Luud to say," he replied, and then he leaned closer so
that his mouth was near her ear. "That noise you made which you called
song pleased me," he whispered, "and I will repay you by warning you
not to antagonize these kaldanes. They are very powerful. Luud listens
to them. Do not call them frightful. They are very handsome. Look at
their wonderful trappings, their gold, their jewels."

"Thank you," she said. "You called them kaldanes—what does that mean?"

"We are all kaldanes," he replied.

"You, too?" and she pointed at him, her slim finger directed toward his
chest.

"No, not this," he explained, touching his body; "this is a rykor; but
this," and he touched his head, "is a kaldane. It is the brain, the
intellect, the power that directs all things. The rykor," he indicated
his body, "is nothing. It is not so much even as the jewels upon our
harness; no, not so much as the harness itself. It carries us about. It
is true that we would find difficulty getting along without it; but it
has less value than harness or jewels because it is less difficult to
reproduce." He turned again to the other kaldanes. "Will you notify
Luud that I am here?" he asked.

"Sept has already gone to Luud. He will tell him," replied one. "Where
did you find this rykor with the strange kaldane that cannot detach
itself?"

The girl's captor narrated once more the story of her capture. He
stated facts just as they had occurred, without embellishment, his
voice as expressionless as his face, and his story was received in the
same manner that it was delivered. The creatures seemed totally lacking
in emotion, or, at least, the capacity to express it. It was impossible
to judge what impression the story made upon them, or even if they
heard it. Their protruding eyes simply stared and occasionally the
muscles of their mouths opened and closed. Familiarity did not lessen
the horror the girl felt for them. The more she saw of them the more
repulsive they seemed. Often her body was shaken by convulsive shudders
as she looked at the kaldanes, but when her eyes wandered to the
beautiful bodies and she could for a moment expunge the heads from her
consciousness the effect was soothing and refreshing, though when the
bodies lay, headless, upon the floor they were quite as shocking as the
heads mounted on bodies. But by far the most grewsome and uncanny sight
of all was that of the heads crawling about upon their spider legs. If
one of these should approach and touch her Tara of Helium was positive
that she should scream, while should one attempt to crawl up her
person—ugh! the very idea induced a feeling of faintness.

Sept returned to the chamber. "Luud will see you and the captive.
Come!" he said, and turned toward a door opposite that through which
Tara of Helium had entered the chamber. "What is your name?" His
question was directed to the girl's captor.

"I am Ghek, third foreman of the fields of Luud," he answered.

"And hers?"

"I do not know."

"It makes no difference. Come!"

The patrician brows of Tara of Helium went high. It made no difference,
indeed! She, a princess of Helium; only daughter of The Warlord of
Barsoom!

"Wait!" she cried. "It makes much difference who I am. If you are
conducting me into the presence of your jed you may announce The
Princess Tara of Helium, daughter of John Carter, The Warlord of
Barsoom."

The anger of Tara of Helium all but choked her. "Come," admonished
Ghek, and took her by the arm, and Tara of Helium came. She was naught
but a prisoner. Her rank and titles meant nothing to these inhuman
monsters. They led her through a short, S-shaped passageway into a
chamber entirely lined with the white, tile-like material with which
the interior of the light wall was faced. Close to the base of the
walls were numerous smaller apertures, circular in shape, but larger
than those of similar aspect that she had noted elsewhere. The majority
of these apertures were sealed. Directly opposite the entrance was one
framed in gold, and above it a peculiar device was inlaid in the same
precious metal.

Sept and Ghek halted just within the room, the girl between them, and
all three stood silently facing the opening in the opposite wall. On
the floor beside the aperture lay a headless male body of almost heroic
proportions, and on either side of this stood a heavily armed warrior,
with drawn sword. For perhaps five minutes the three waited and then
something appeared in the opening. It was a pair of large chelae and
immediately thereafter there crawled forth a hideous kaldane of
enormous proportions. He was half again as large as any that Tara of
Helium had yet seen and his whole aspect infinitely more terrible. The
skin of the others was a bluish gray—this one was of a little bluer
tinge and the eyes were ringed with bands of white and scarlet, as was
its mouth.

From each nostril a band of white and one of scarlet extended outward
horizontally the width of the face.

No one spoke or moved. The creature crawled to the prostrate body and
affixed itself to the neck. Then the two rose as one and approached the
girl. He looked at her and then he spoke to her captor.

"You are the third foreman of the fields of Luud?" he asked.

"Yes, Luud; I am called Ghek."

"Tell me what you know of this," and he nodded toward Tara of Helium.

Ghek did as he was bid and then Luud addressed the girl.

"What were you doing within the borders of Bantoom?" he asked.

"I was blown hither in a great storm that injured my flier and carried
me I knew not where. I came down into the valley at night for food and
drink. The banths came and drove me to the safety of a tree, and then
your people caught me as I was trying to leave the valley. I do not
know why they took me. I was doing no harm. All I ask is that you let
me go my way in peace."

"None who enters Bantoom ever leaves," replied Luud.

"But my people are not at war with yours. I am a princess of Helium; my
great-grandfather is a jeddak; my grandfather a jed; and my father is
Warlord of all Barsoom. You have no right to keep me and I demand that
you liberate me at once."

"None who enters Bantoom ever leaves," repeated the creature without
expression. "I know nothing of the lesser creatures of Barsoom, of whom
you speak. There is but one high race—the race of Bantoomians. All
Nature exists to serve them. You shall do your share, but not yet—you
are too skinny. We shall have to put some fat upon it, Sept. I tire of
rykor. Perhaps this will have a different flavor. The banths are too
rank and it is seldom that any other creature enters the valley. And
you, Ghek; you shall be rewarded. I shall promote you from the fields
to the burrows. Hereafter you shall remain underground as every
Bantoomian longs to. No more shall you be forced to endure the hated
sun, or look upon the hideous sky, or the hateful growing things that
defile the surface. For the present you shall look after this thing
that you have brought me, seeing that it sleeps and eats—and does
nothing else. You understand me, Ghek; nothing else!"

"I understand, Luud," replied the other.

"Take it away!" commanded the creature.

Ghek turned and led Tara of Helium from the apartment. The girl was
horrified by contemplation of the fate that awaited her—a fate from
which it seemed, there was no escape. It was only too evident that
these creatures possessed no gentle or chivalric sentiments to which
she could appeal, and that she might escape from the labyrinthine mazes
of their underground burrows appeared impossible.

Outside the audience chamber Sept overtook them and conversed with Ghek
for a brief period, then her keeper led her through a confusing web of
winding tunnels until they came to a small apartment.

"We are to remain here for a while. It may be that Luud will send for
you again. If he does you will probably not be fattened—he will use
you for another purpose." It was fortunate for the girl's peace of mind
that she did not realize what he meant. "Sing for me," said Ghek,
presently.

Tara of Helium did not feel at all like singing, but she sang,
nevertheless, for there was always the hope that she might escape if
given the opportunity and if she could win the friendship of one of the
creatures, her chances would be increased proportionately. All during
the ordeal, for such it was to the overwrought girl, Ghek stood with
his eyes fixed upon her.

"It is wonderful," he said, when she had finished; "but I did not tell
Luud—you noticed that I did not tell Luud about it. Had he known, he
would have had you sing to him and that would have resulted in your
being kept with him that he might hear you sing whenever he wished; but
now I can have you all the time."

"How do you know he would like my singing?" she asked.

"He would have to," replied Ghek. "If I like a thing he has to like it,
for are we not identical—all of us?"

"The people of my race do not all like the same things," said the girl.

"How strange!" commented Ghek. "All kaldanes like the same things and
dislike the same things. If I discover something new and like it I know
that all kaldanes will like it. That is how I know that Luud would like
your singing. You see we are all exactly alike."

"But you do not look like Luud," said the girl.

"Luud is king. He is larger and more gorgeously marked; but otherwise
he and I are identical, and why not? Did not Luud produce the egg from
which I hatched?"

"What?" queried the girl; "I do not understand you."

"Yes," explained Ghek, "all of us are from Luud's eggs, just as all the
swarm of Moak are from Moak's eggs."

"Oh!" exclaimed Tara of Helium understandingly; "you mean that Luud has
many wives and that you are the offspring of one of them."

"No, not that at all," replied Ghek. "Luud has no wife. He lays the
eggs himself. You do not understand."

Tara of Helium admitted that she did not.

"I will try to explain, then," said Ghek, "if you will promise to sing
to me later."

"I promise," she said.

"We are not like the rykors," he began. "They are creatures of a low
order, like yourself and the banths and such things. We have no
sex—not one of us except our king, who is bi-sexual. He produces many
eggs from which we, the workers and the warriors, are hatched; and one
in every thousand eggs is another king egg, from which a king is
hatched. Did you notice the sealed openings in the room where you saw
Luud? Sealed in each of those is another king. If one of them escaped
he would fall upon Luud and try to kill him and if he succeeded we
should have a new king; but there would be no difference. His name
would be Luud and all would go on as before, for are we not all alike?
Luud has lived a long time and has produced many kings, so he lets only
a few live that there may be a successor to him when he dies. The
others he kills."

"Why does he keep more than one?" queried the girl.

"Sometimes accidents occur," replied Ghek, "and all the kings that a
swarm has saved are killed. When this happens the swarm comes and
obtains another king from a neighboring swarm."

"Are all of you the children of Luud?" she asked.

"All but a few, who are from the eggs of the preceding king, as was
Luud; but Luud has lived a long time and not many of the others are
left."

"You live a long time, or short?" Tara asked.

"A very long time."

"And the rykors, too; they live a long time?"

"No; the rykors live for ten years, perhaps," he said, "if they remain
strong and useful. When they can no longer be of service to us, either
through age or sickness, we leave them in the fields and the banths
come at night and get them."

"How horrible!" she exclaimed.

"Horrible?" he repeated. "I see nothing horrible about that. The rykors
are but brainless flesh. They neither see, nor feel, nor hear. They can
scarce move but for us. If we did not bring them food they would starve
to death. They are less deserving of thought than our leather. All that
they can do for themselves is to take food from a trough and put it in
their mouths, but with us—look at them!" and he proudly exhibited the
noble figure that he surmounted, palpitant with life and energy and
feeling.

"How do you do it?" asked Tara of Helium. "I do not understand it at
all."

"I will show you," he said, and lay down upon the floor. Then he
detached himself from the body, which lay as a thing dead. On his
spider legs he walked toward the girl. "Now look," he admonished her.
"Do you see this thing?" and he extended what appeared to be a bundle
of tentacles from the posterior part of his head. "There is an aperture
just back of the rykor's mouth and directly over the upper end of his
spinal column. Into this aperture I insert my tentacles and seize the
spinal cord. Immediately I control every muscle of the rykor's body—it
becomes my own, just as you direct the movement of the muscles of your
body. I feel what the rykor would feel if he had a head and brain. If
he is hurt, I would suffer if I remained connected with him; but the
instant one of them is injured or becomes sick we desert it for
another. As we would suffer the pains of their physical injuries,
similarly do we enjoy the physical pleasures of the rykors. When your
body becomes fatigued you are comparatively useless; it is sick, you
are sick; if it is killed, you die. You are the slave of a mass of
stupid flesh and bone and blood. There is nothing more wonderful about
your carcass than there is about the carcass of a banth. It is only
your brain that makes you superior to the banth, but your brain is
bound by the limitations of your body. Not so, ours. With us brain is
everything. Ninety per centum of our volume is brain. We have only the
simplest of vital organs and they are very small for they do not have
to assist in the support of a complicated system of nerves, muscles,
flesh and bone. We have no lungs, for we do not require air. Far below
the levels to which we can take the rykors is a vast network of burrows
where the real life of the kaldane is lived. There the air-breathing
rykor would perish as you would perish. There we have stored vast
quantities of food in hermetically sealed chambers. It will last
forever. Far beneath the surface is water that will flow for countless
ages after the surface water is exhausted. We are preparing for the
time we know must come—the time when the last vestige of the
Barsoomian atmosphere is spent—when the waters and the food are gone.
For this purpose were we created, that there might not perish from the
planet Nature's divinest creation—the perfect brain."

"But what purpose can you serve when that time comes?" asked the girl.

"You do not understand," he said. "It is too big for you to grasp, but
I will try to explain it. Barsoom, the moons, the sun, the stars, were
created for a single purpose. From the beginning of time Nature has
labored arduously toward the consummation of this purpose. At the very
beginning things existed with life, but with no brain. Gradually
rudimentary nervous systems and minute brains evolved. Evolution
proceeded. The brains became larger and more powerful. In us you see
the highest development; but there are those of us who believe that
there is yet another step—that some time in the far future our race
shall develop into the super-thing—just brain. The incubus of legs and
chelae and vital organs will be removed. The future kaldane will be
nothing but a great brain. Deaf, dumb, and blind it will lie sealed in
its buried vault far beneath the surface of Barsoom—just a great,
wonderful, beautiful brain with nothing to distract it from eternal
thought."

"You mean it will just lie there and think?" cried Tara of Helium.

"Just that!" he exclaimed. "Could aught be more wonderful?"

"Yes," replied the girl, "I can think of a number of things that would
be infinitely more wonderful."

CHAPTER VI

IN THE TOILS OF HORROR

What the creature had told her gave Tara of Helium food for thought.
She had been taught that every created thing fulfilled some useful
purpose, and she tried conscientiously to discover just what was the
rightful place of the kaldane in the universal scheme of things. She
knew that it must have its place but what that place was it was beyond
her to conceive. She had to give it up. They recalled to her mind a
little group of people in Helium who had forsworn the pleasures of life
in the pursuit of knowledge. They were rather patronizing in their
relations with those whom they thought not so intellectual. They
considered themselves quite superior. She smiled at recollection of a
remark her father had once made concerning them, to the effect that if
one of them ever dropped his egotism and broke it it would take a week
to fumigate Helium. Her father liked normal people—people who knew too
little and people who knew too much were equally a bore. Tara of Helium
was like her father in this respect and like him, too, she was both
sane and normal.

Outside of her personal danger there was much in this strange world
that interested her. The rykors aroused her keenest pity, and vast
conjecture. How and from what form had they evolved? She asked Ghek.

"Sing to me again and I will tell you," he said. "If Luud would let me
have you, you should never die. I should keep you always to sing to me."

The girl marvelled at the effect her voice had upon the creature.
Somewhere in that enormous brain there was a chord that was touched by
melody. It was the sole link between herself and the brain when
detached from the rykor. When it dominated the rykor it might have
other human instincts; but these she dreaded even to think of. After
she had sung she waited for Ghek to speak. For a long time he was
silent, just looking at her through those awful eyes.

"I wonder," he said presently, "if it might not be pleasant to be of
your race. Do you all sing?"

"Nearly all, a little," she said; "but we do many other interesting and
enjoyable things. We dance and play and work and love and sometimes we
fight, for we are a race of warriors."

"Love!" said the kaldane. "I think I know what you mean; but we,
fortunately, are above sentiment—when we are detached. But when we
dominate the rykor—ah, that is different, and when I hear you sing and
look at your beautiful body I know what you mean by love. I could love
you."

The girl shrank from him. "You promised to tell me the origin of the
rykor," she reminded him.

"Ages ago," he commenced, "our bodies were larger and our heads
smaller. Our legs were very weak and we could not travel fast or far.
There was a stupid creature that went upon four legs. It lived in a
hole in the ground, to which it brought its food, so we ran our burrows
into this hole and ate the food it brought; but it did not bring enough
for all—for itself and all the kaldanes that lived upon it, so we had
also to go abroad and get food. This was hard work for our weak legs.
Then it was that we commenced to ride upon the backs of these primitive
rykors. It took many ages, undoubtedly, but at last came the time when
the kaldane had found means to guide the rykor, until presently the
latter depended entirely upon the superior brain of his master to guide
him to food. The brain of the rykor grew smaller as time went on. His
ears went and his eyes, for he no longer had use for them—the kaldane
saw and heard for him. By similar steps the rykor came to go upon its
hind feet that the kaldane might be able to see farther. As the brain
shrank, so did the head. The mouth was the only feature of the head
that was used and so the mouth alone remains. Members of the red race
fell into the hands of our ancestors from time to time. They saw the
beauties and the advantages of the form that nature had given the red
race over that which the rykor was developing into. By intelligent
crossing the present rykor was achieved. He is really solely the
product of the super-intelligence of the kaldane—he is our body, to do
with as we see fit, just as you do what you see fit with your body,
only we have the advantage of possessing an unlimited supply of bodies.
Do you not wish that you were a kaldane?"

For how long they kept her in the subterranean chamber Tara of Helium
did not know. It seemed a very long time. She ate and slept and watched
the interminable lines of creatures that passed the entrance to her
prison. There was a laden line passing from above carrying food, food,
food. In the other line they returned empty handed. When she saw them
she knew that it was daylight above. When they did not pass she knew it
was night, and that the banths were about devouring the rykors that had
been abandoned in the fields the previous day. She commenced to grow
pale and thin. She did not like the food they gave her—it was not
suited to her kind—nor would she have eaten overmuch palatable food,
for the fear of becoming fat. The idea of plumpness had a new
significance here—a horrible significance.

Ghek noted that she was growing thin and white. He spoke to her about
it and she told him that she could not thrive thus beneath the
ground—that she must have fresh air and sunshine, or she would wither
and die. Evidently he carried her words to Luud, since it was not long
after that he told her that the king had ordered that she be confined
in the tower and to the tower she was taken. She had hoped against hope
that this very thing might result from her conversation with Ghek. Even
to see the sun again was something, but now there sprang to her breast
a hope that she had not dared to nurse before, while she lay in the
terrible labyrinth from which she knew she could never have found her
way to the outer world; but now there was some slight reason to hope.
At least she could see the hills and if she could see them might there
not come also the opportunity to reach them? If she could have but ten
minutes—just ten little minutes! The flier was still there—she knew
that it must be. Just ten minutes and she would be free—free forever
from this frightful place; but the days wore on and she was never
alone, not even for half of ten minutes. Many times she planned her
escape. Had it not been for the banths it had been easy of
accomplishment by night. Ghek always detached his body then and sank
into what seemed a semi-comatose condition. It could not be said that
he slept, or at least it did not appear like sleep, since his lidless
eyes were unchanged; but he lay quietly in a corner. Tara of Helium
enacted a thousand times in her mind the scene of her escape. She would
rush to the side of the rykor and seize the sword that hung in its
harness. Before Ghek knew what she purposed, she would have this and
then before he could give an alarm she would drive the blade through
his hideous head. It would take but a moment to reach the enclosure.
The rykors could not stop her, for they had no brains to tell them that
she was escaping. She had watched from her window the opening and
closing of the gate that led from the enclosure out into the fields and
she knew how the great latch operated. She would pass through and make
a quick dash for the hill. It was so near that they could not overtake
her. It was so easy! Or it would have been but for the banths! The
banths at night and the workers in the fields by day.

Confined to the tower and without proper exercise or food, the girl
failed to show the improvement that her captors desired. Ghek
questioned her in an effort to learn why it was that she did not grow
round and plump; that she did not even look as well as when they had
captured her. His concern was prompted by repeated inquiries on the
part of Luud and finally resulted in suggesting to Tara of Helium a
plan whereby she might find a new opportunity of escape.

"I am accustomed to walking in the fresh air and the sunlight," she
told Ghek. "I cannot become as I was before if I am to be always shut
away in this one chamber, breathing poor air and getting no proper
exercise. Permit me to go out in the fields every day and walk about
while the sun is shining. Then, I am sure, I shall become nice and fat."

"You would run away," he said.

"But how could I if you were always with me?" she asked. "And even if I
wished to run away where could I go? I do not know even the direction
of Helium. It must be very far. The very first night the banths would
get me, would they not?"

"They would," said Ghek. "I will ask Luud about it."

The following day he told her that Luud had said that she was to be
taken into the fields. He would try that for a time and see if she
improved.

"If you do not grow fatter he will send for you anyway," said Ghek;
"but he will not use you for food."

Tara of Helium shuddered.

That day and for many days thereafter she was taken from the tower,
through the enclosure and out into the fields. Always was she alert for
an opportunity to escape; but Ghek was always close by her side. It was
not so much his presence that deterred her from making the attempt as
the number of workers that were always between her and the hills where
the flier lay. She could easily have eluded Ghek, but there were too
many of the others. And then, one day, Ghek told her as he accompanied
her into the open that this would be the last time.

"Tonight you go to Luud," he said. "I am sorry as I shall not hear you
sing again."

"Tonight!" She scarce breathed the word, yet it was vibrant with horror.

She glanced quickly toward the hills. They were so close! Yet between
were the inevitable workers—perhaps a score of them.

"Let us walk over there?" she said, indicating them. "I should like to
see what they are doing."

"It is too far," said Ghek. "I hate the sun. It is much pleasanter here
where I can stand beneath the shade of this tree."

"All right," she agreed; "then you stay here and I will walk over. It
will take me but a minute."

"No," he answered. "I will go with you. You want to escape; but you are
not going to."

"I cannot escape," she said.

"I know it," agreed Ghek; "but you might try. I do not wish you to try.
Possibly it will be better if we return to the tower at once. It would
go hard with me should you escape."

Tara of Helium saw her last chance fading into oblivion. There would
never be another after today. She cast about for some pretext to lure
him even a little nearer to the hills.

"It is very little that I ask," she said. "Tonight you will want me to
sing to you. It will be the last time, if you do not let me go and see
what those kaldanes are doing I shall never sing to you again."

Ghek hesitated. "I will hold you by the arm all the time, then," he
said.

"Why, of course, if you wish," she assented. "Come!"

The two moved toward the workers and the hills. The little party was
digging tubers from the ground. She had noted this and that nearly
always they were stooped low over their work, the hideous eyes bent
upon the upturned soil. She led Ghek quite close to them, pretending
that she wished to see exactly how they did the work, and all the time
he held her tightly by her left wrist.

"It is very interesting," she said, with a sigh, and then, suddenly;
"Look, Ghek!" and pointed quickly back in the direction of the tower.
The kaldane, still holding her turned half away from her to look in the
direction she had indicated and simultaneously, with the quickness of a
banth, she struck him with her right fist, backed by every ounce of
strength she possessed—struck the back of the pulpy head just above
the collar. The blow was sufficient to accomplish her design,
dislodging the kaldane from its rykor and tumbling it to the ground.
Instantly the grasp upon her wrist relaxed as the body, no longer
controlled by the brain of Ghek, stumbled aimlessly about for an
instant before it sank to its knees and then rolled over on its back;
but Tara of Helium waited not to note the full results of her act. The
instant the fingers loosened upon her wrist she broke away and dashed
toward the hills. Simultaneously a warning whistle broke from Ghek's
lips and in instant response the workers leaped to their feet, one
almost in the girl's path. She dodged the outstretched arms and was
away again toward the hills and freedom, when her foot caught in one of
the hoe-like instruments with which the soil had been upturned and
which had been left, half imbedded in the ground. For an instant she
ran on, stumbling, in a mad effort to regain her equilibrium, but the
upturned furrows caught her feet—again she stumbled and this time went
down, and as she scrambled to rise again a heavy body fell upon her and
seized her arms. A moment later she was surrounded and dragged to her
feet and as she looked around she saw Ghek crawling to his prostrate
rykor. A moment later he advanced to her side.

The hideous face, incapable of registering emotion, gave no clue to
what was passing in the enormous brain. Was he nursing thoughts of
anger, of hate, of revenge? Tara of Helium could not guess, nor did she
care. The worst had happened. She had tried to escape and she had
failed. There would never be another opportunity.

"Come!" said Ghek. "We will return to the tower." The deadly monotone
of his voice was unbroken. It was worse than anger, for it revealed
nothing of his intentions. It but increased her horror of these great
brains that were beyond the possibility of human emotions.

And so she was dragged back to her prison in the tower and Ghek took up
his vigil again, squatting by the doorway, but now he carried a naked
sword in his hand and did not quit his rykor, only to change to another
that he had brought to him when the first gave indications of
weariness. The girl sat looking at him. He had not been unkind to her,
but she felt no sense of gratitude, nor, on the other hand, any sense
of hatred. The brains, incapable themselves of any of the finer
sentiments, awoke none in her. She could not feel gratitude, or
affection, or hatred of them. There was only the same unceasing sense
of horror in their presence. She had heard great scientists discuss the
future of the red race and she recalled that some had maintained that
eventually the brain would entirely dominate the man. There would be no
more instinctive acts or emotions, nothing would be done on impulse;
but on the contrary reason would direct our every act. The propounder
of the theory regretted that he might never enjoy the blessings of such
a state, which, he argued, would result in the ideal life for mankind.

Tara of Helium wished with all her heart that this learned scientist
might be here to experience to the full the practical results of the
fulfillment of his prophecy. Between the purely physical rykor and the
purely mental kaldane there was little choice; but in the happy medium
of normal, and imperfect man, as she knew him, lay the most desirable
state of existence. It would have been a splendid object lesson, she
thought, to all those idealists who seek mass perfection in any phase
of human endeavor, since here they might discover the truth that
absolute perfection is as little to be desired as is its antithesis.

Gloomy were the thoughts that filled the mind of Tara of Helium as she
awaited the summons from Luud—the summons that could mean for her but
one thing; death. She guessed why he had sent for her and she knew that
she must find the means for self-destruction before the night was over;
but still she clung to hope and to life. She would not give up until
there was no other way. She startled Ghek once by exclaiming aloud,
almost fiercely: "I still live!"

"What do you mean?" asked the kaldane.

"I mean just what I say," she replied. "I still live and while I live I
may still find a way. Dead, there is no hope."

"Find a way to what?" he asked.

"To life and liberty and mine own people," she responded.

"None who enters Bantoom ever leaves," he droned.

She did not reply and after a time he spoke again. "Sing to me," he
said.

It was while she was singing that four warriors came to take her to
Luud. They told Ghek that he was to remain where he was.

"Why?" asked Ghek.

"You have displeased Luud," replied one of the warriors.

"How?" demanded Ghek.

"You have demonstrated a lack of uncontaminated reasoning power. You
have permitted sentiment to influence you, thus demonstrating that you
are a defective. You know the fate of defectives."

"I know the fate of defectives, but I am no defective," insisted Ghek.

"You permitted the strange noises which issue from her throat to please
and soothe you, knowing well that their origin and purpose had nothing
whatever to do with logic or the powers of reason. This in itself
constitutes an unimpeachable indictment of weakness. Then, influenced
doubtless by an illogical feeling of sentiment, you permitted her to
walk abroad in the fields to a place where she was able to make an
almost successful attempt to escape. Your own reasoning power, were it
not defective, would convince you that you are unfit. The natural, and
reasonable, consequence is destruction. Therefore you will be destroyed
in such a way that the example will be beneficial to all other kaldanes
of the swarm of Luud. In the meantime you will remain where you are."

"You are right," said Ghek. "I will remain here until Luud sees fit to
destroy me in the most reasonable manner."

Tara of Helium shot a look of amazement at him as they led her from the
chamber. Over her shoulder she called back to him: "Remember, Ghek, you
still live!" Then they led her along the interminable tunnels to where
Luud awaited her.

When she was conducted into his presence he was squatting in a corner
of the chamber upon his six spidery legs. Near the opposite wall lay
his rykor, its beautiful form trapped in gorgeous harness—a dead thing
without a guiding kaldane. Luud dismissed the warriors who had
accompanied the prisoner. Then he sat with his terrible eyes fixed upon
her and without speaking for some time. Tara of Helium could but wait.
What was to come she could only guess. When it came would be
sufficiently the time to meet it. There was no necessity for
anticipating the end. Presently Luud spoke.

"You think to escape," he said, in the deadly, expressionless monotone
of his kind—the only possible result of orally expressing reason
uninfluenced by sentiment. "You will not escape. You are merely the
embodiment of two imperfect things—an imperfect brain and an imperfect
body. The two cannot exist together in perfection. There you see a
perfect body." He pointed toward the rykor. "It has no brain. Here,"
and he raised one of his chelae to his head, "is the perfect brain. It
needs no body to function perfectly and properly as a brain. You would
pit your feeble intellect against mine! Even now you are planning to
slay me. If you are thwarted in that you expect to slay yourself. You
will learn the power of mind over matter. I am the mind. You are the
matter. What brain you have is too weak and ill-developed to deserve
the name of brain. You have permitted it to be weakened by impulsive
acts dictated by sentiment. It has no value. It has practically no
control over your existence. You will not kill me. You will not kill
yourself. When I am through with you you shall be killed if it seems
the logical thing to do. You have no conception of the possibilities
for power which lie in a perfectly developed brain. Look at that rykor.
He has no brain. He can move but slightly of his own volition. An
inherent mechanical instinct that we have permitted to remain in him
allows him to carry food to his mouth; but he could not find food for
himself. We have to place it within his reach and always in the same
place. Should we put food at his feet and leave him alone he would
starve to death. But now watch what a real brain may accomplish."

He turned his eyes upon the rykor and squatted there glaring at the
insensate thing. Presently, to the girl's horror, the headless body
moved. It rose slowly to its feet and crossed the room to Luud; it
stooped and took the hideous head in its hands; it raised the head and
set it on its shoulders.

"What chance have you against such power?" asked Luud. "As I did with
the rykor so can I do with you."

Tara of Helium made no reply. Evidently no vocal reply was necessary.

"You doubt my ability!" stated Luud, which was precisely the fact,
though the girl had only thought it—she had not said it.

Luud crossed the room and lay down. Then he detached himself from the
body and crawled across the floor until he stood directly in front of
the circular opening through which she had seen him emerge the day that
she had first been brought to his presence. He stopped there and
fastened his terrible eyes upon her. He did not speak, but his eyes
seemed to be boring straight to the center of her brain. She felt an
almost irresistible force urging her toward the kaldane. She fought to
resist it; she tried to turn away her eyes, but she could not. They
were held as in horrid fascination upon the glittering, lidless orbs of
the great brain that faced her. Slowly, every step a painful struggle
of resistance, she moved toward the horrific monster. She tried to cry
aloud in an effort to awaken her numbing faculties, but no sound passed
her lips. If those eyes would but turn away, just for an instant, she
felt that she might regain the power to control her steps; but the eyes
never left hers. They seemed but to burn deeper and deeper, gathering
up every vestige of control of her entire nervous system.

As she approached the thing it backed slowly away upon its spider legs.
She noticed that its chelae waved slowly to and fro before it as it
backed, backed, backed, through the round aperture in the wall. Must
she follow it there, too? What new and nameless horror lay concealed in
that hidden chamber? No! she would not do it. Yet before she reached
the wall she found herself down and crawling upon her hands and knees
straight toward the hole from which the two eyes still clung to hers.
At the very threshold of the opening she made a last, heroic stand,
battling against the force that drew her on; but in the end she
succumbed. With a gasp that ended in a sob Tara of Helium passed
through the aperture into the chamber beyond.

The opening was but barely large enough to admit her. Upon the opposite
side she found herself in a small chamber. Before her squatted Luud.
Against the opposite wall lay a large and beautiful male rykor. He was
without harness or other trappings.

"You see now," said Luud, "the futility of revolt."

The words seemed to release her momentarily from the spell. Quickly she
turned away her eyes.

"Look at me!" commanded Luud.

Tara of Helium kept her eyes averted. She felt a new strength, or at
least a diminution of the creature's power over her. Had she stumbled
upon the secret of its uncanny domination over her will? She dared not
hope. With eyes averted she turned toward the aperture through which
those baleful eyes had drawn her. Again Luud commanded her to stop, but
the voice alone lacked all authority to influence her. It was not like
the eyes. She heard the creature whistle and knew that it was summoning
assistance, but because she did not dare look toward it she did not see
it turn and concentrate its gaze upon the great, headless body lying by
the further wall.

The girl was still slightly under the spell of the creature's
influence—she had not regained full and independent domination of her
powers. She moved as one in the throes of some hideous
nightmare—slowly, painfully, as though each limb was hampered by a
great weight, or as she were dragging her body through a viscous fluid.
The aperture was close, ah, so close, yet, struggle as she would, she
seemed to be making no appreciable progress toward it.

Behind her, urged on by the malevolent power of the great brain, the
headless body crawled upon all-fours toward her. At last she had
reached the aperture. Something seemed to tell her that once beyond it
the domination of the kaldane would be broken. She was almost through
into the adjoining chamber when she felt a heavy hand close upon her
ankle. The rykor had reached forth and seized her, and though she
struggled the thing dragged her back into the room with Luud. It held
her tight and drew her close, and then, to her horror, it commenced to
caress her.

"You see now," she heard Luud's dull voice, "the futility of
revolt—and its punishment."

Tara of Helium fought to defend herself, but pitifully weak were her
muscles against this brainless incarnation of brute power. Yet she
fought, fought on in the face of hopeless odds for the honor of the
proud name she bore—fought alone, she whom the fighting men of a
mighty empire, the flower of Martian chivalry, would gladly have lain
down their lives to save.

CHAPTER VII

A REPELLENT SIGHT

The cruiser Vanator careened through the tempest. That she had not been
dashed to the ground, or twisted by the force of the elements into
tangled wreckage, was due entirely to the caprice of Nature. For all
the duration of the storm she rode, a helpless derelict, upon those
storm-tossed waves of wind. But for all the dangers and vicissitudes
they underwent, she and her crew might have borne charmed lives up to
within an hour of the abating of the hurricane. It was then that the
catastrophe occurred—a catastrophe indeed to the crew of the Vanator
and the kingdom of Gathol.

The men had been without food or drink since leaving Helium, and they
had been hurled about and buffeted in their lashings until all were
worn to exhaustion. There was a brief lull in the storm during which
one of the crew attempted to reach his quarters, after releasing the
lashings which had held him to the precarious safety of the deck. The
act in itself was a direct violation of orders and, in the eyes of the
other members of the crew, the effect, which came with startling
suddenness, took the form of a swift and terrible retribution. Scarce
had the man released the safety snaps ere a swift arm of the
storm-monster encircled the ship, rolling it over and over, with the
result that the foolhardy warrior went overboard at the first turn.

Unloosed from their lashing by the constant turning and twisting of the
ship and the force of the wind, the boarding and landing tackle had
been trailing beneath the keel, a tangled mass of cordage and leather.
Upon the occasions that the Vanator rolled completely over, these
things would be wrapped around her until another revolution in the
opposite direction, or the wind itself, carried them once again clear
of the deck to trail, whipping in the storm, beneath the hurtling ship.

Into this fell the body of the warrior, and as a drowning man clutches
at a straw so the fellow clutched at the tangled cordage that caught
him and arrested his fall. With the strength of desperation he clung to
the cordage, seeking frantically to entangle his legs and body in it.
With each jerk of the ship his hand holds were all but torn loose, and
though he knew that eventually they would be and that he must be dashed
to the ground beneath, yet he fought with the madness that is born of
hopelessness for the pitiful second which but prolonged his agony.

It was upon this sight then that Gahan of Gathol looked, over the edge
of the careening deck of the Vanator, as he sought to learn the fate of
his warrior. Lashed to the gunwale close at hand a single landing
leather that had not fouled the tangled mass beneath whipped free from
the ship's side, the hook snapping at its outer end. The Jed of Gathol
grasped the situation in a single glance. Below him one of his people
looked into the eyes of Death. To the jed's hand lay the means for
succor.

There was no instant's hesitation. Casting off his deck lashings, he
seized the landing leather and slipped over the ship's side. Swinging
like a bob upon a mad pendulum he swung far out and back again, turning
and twisting three thousand feet above the surface of Barsoom, and
then, at last, the thing he had hoped for occurred. He was carried
within reach of the cordage where the warrior still clung, though with
rapidly diminishing strength. Catching one leg on a loop of the tangled
strands Gahan pulled himself close enough to seize another quite near
to the fellow. Clinging precariously to this new hold the jed slowly
drew in the landing leather, down which he had clambered until he could
grasp the hook at its end. This he fastened to a ring in the warrior's
harness, just before the man's weakened fingers slipped from their hold
upon the cordage.

Temporarily, at least, he had saved the life of his subject, and now he
turned his attention toward insuring his own safety. Inextricably
entangled in the mess to which he was clinging were numerous other
landing hooks such as he had attached to the warrior's harness, and
with one of these he sought to secure himself until the storm should
abate sufficiently to permit him to climb to the deck, but even as he
reached for one that swung near him the ship was caught in a renewed
burst of the storm's fury, the thrashing cordage whipped and snapped to
the lunging of the great craft and one of the heavy metal hooks,
lashing through the air, struck the Jed of Gathol fair between the eyes.

Momentarily stunned, Gahan's fingers slipped from their hold upon the
cordage and the man shot downward through the thin air of dying Mars
toward the ground three thousand feet beneath, while upon the deck of
the rolling Vanator his faithful warriors clung to their lashings all
unconscious of the fate of their beloved leader; nor was it until more
than an hour later, after the storm had materially subsided, that they
realized he was lost, or knew the self-sacrificing heroism of the act
that had sealed his doom. The Vanator now rested upon an even keel as
she was carried along by a strong, though steady, wind. The warriors
had cast off their deck lashings and the officers were taking account
of losses and damage when a weak cry was heard from oversides,
attracting their attention to the man hanging in the cordage beneath
the keel. Strong arms hoisted him to the deck and then it was that the
crew of the Vanator learned of the heroism of their jed and his end.
How far they had traveled since his loss they could only vaguely guess,
nor could they return in search of him in the disabled condition of the
ship. It was a saddened company that drifted onward through the air
toward whatever destination Fate was to choose for them.

And Gahan, Jed of Gathol--what of him? Plummet-like he fell for a
thousand feet and then the storm seized him in its giant clutch and
bore him far aloft again. As a bit of paper borne upon a gale he was
tossed about in mid-air, the sport and plaything of the wind. Over and
over it turned him and upward and downward it carried him, but after
each new sally of the element he was brought nearer to the ground. The
freaks of cyclonic storms are the rule of cyclonic storms, since
such storms are in themselves freaks. They uproot and demolish
giant trees, and in the same gust they transport frail infants for
miles and deposit them unharmed in their wake.

And so it was with Gahan of Gathol. Expecting momentarily to be dashed
to destruction he presently found himself deposited gently upon the
soft, ochre moss of a dead sea-bottom, bodily no worse off for his
harrowing adventure than in the possession of a slight swelling upon
his forehead where the metal hook had struck him. Scarcely able to
believe that Fate had dealt thus gently with him, the jed arose slowly,
as though more than half convinced that he should discover crushed and
splintered bones that would not support his weight. But he was intact.
He looked about him in a vain effort at orientation. The air was filled
with flying dust and debris. The Sun was obliterated. His vision was
confined to a radius of a few hundred yards of ochre moss and
dust-filled air. Five hundred yards away in any direction there might
have arisen the walls of a great city and he not known it. It was
useless to move from where he was until the air cleared, since he could
not know in what direction he was moving, and so he stretched himself
upon the moss and waited, pondering the fate of his warriors and his
ship, but giving little thought to his own precarious situation.

Lashed to his harness were his swords, his pistols, and a dagger, and
in his pocket-pouch a small quantity of the concentrated rations that
form a part of the equipment of the fighting men of Barsoom. These
things together with trained muscles, high courage, and an undaunted
spirit sufficed him for whatever misadventures might lie between him
and Gathol, which lay in what direction he knew not, nor at what
distance.

The wind was falling rapidly and with it the dust that obscured the
landscape. That the storm was over he was convinced, but he chafed at
the inactivity the low visibility put upon him, nor did conditions
better materially before night fell, so that he was forced to await the
new day at the very spot at which the tempest had deposited him.
Without his sleeping silks and furs he spent a far from comfortable
night, and it was with feelings of unmixed relief that he saw the
sudden dawn burst upon him. The air was now clear and in the light of
the new day he saw an undulating plain stretching in all directions
about him, while to the northwest there were barely discernible the
outlines of low hills. Toward the southeast of Gathol was such a
country, and as Gahan surmised the direction and the velocity of the
storm to have carried him somewhere in the vicinity of the country he
thought he recognized, he assumed that Gathol lay behind the hills he
now saw, whereas, in reality, it lay far to the northeast.

It was two days before Gahan had crossed the plain and reached the
summit of the hills from which he hoped to see his own country, only to
meet at last with disappointment. Before him stretched another plain,
of even greater proportions than that he had but just crossed, and
beyond this other hills. In one material respect this plain differed
from that behind him in that it was dotted with occasional isolated
hills. Convinced, however, that Gathol lay somewhere in the direction
of his search he descended into the valley and bent his steps toward
the northwest.

For weeks Gahan of Gathol crossed valleys and hills in search of some
familiar landmark that might point his way toward his native land, but
the summit of each succeeding ridge revealed but another unfamiliar
view. He saw few animals and no men, until he finally came to the
belief that he had fallen upon that fabled area of ancient Barsoom
which lay under the curse of her olden gods—the once rich and fertile
country whose people in their pride and arrogance had denied the
deities, and whose punishment had been extermination.

And then, one day, he scaled low hills and looked into an inhabited
valley—a valley of trees and cultivated fields and plots of ground
enclosed by stone walls surrounding strange towers. He saw people
working in the fields, but he did not rush down to greet them. First he
must know more of them and whether they might be assumed to be friends
or enemies. Hidden by concealing shrubbery he crawled to a vantage
point upon a hill that projected further into the valley, and here he
lay upon his belly watching the workers closest to him. They were still
quite a distance from him and he could not be quite sure of them, but
there was something verging upon the unnatural about them. Their heads
seemed out of proportion to their bodies—too large.

For a long time he lay watching them and ever more forcibly it was
borne in upon his consciousness that they were not as he, and that it
would be rash to trust himself among them. Presently he saw a couple
appear from the nearest enclosure and slowly approach those who were
working nearest to the hill where he lay in hiding. Immediately he was
aware that one of these differed from all the others. Even at the
greater distance he noted that the head was smaller and as they
approached, he was confident that the harness of one of them was not as
the harness of its companion or of that of any of those who tilled the
fields.

The two stopped often, apparently in argument, as though one would
proceed in the direction that they were going while the other demurred.
But each time the smaller won reluctant consent from the other, and so
they came closer and closer to the last line of workers toiling between
the enclosure from which they had come and the hill where Gahan of
Gathol lay watching, and then suddenly the smaller figure struck its
companion full in the face. Gahan, horrified, saw the latter's head
topple from its body, saw the body stagger and fall to the ground. The
man half rose from his concealment the better to view the happening in
the valley below. The creature that had felled its companion was
dashing madly in the direction of the hill upon which he was hidden, it
dodged one of the workers that sought to seize it. Gahan hoped that it
would gain its liberty, why he did not know other than at closer range
it had every appearance of being a creature of his own race. Then he
saw it stumble and go down and instantly its pursuers were upon it.
Then it was that Gahan's eyes chanced to return to the figure of the
creature the fugitive had felled.

What horror was this that he was witnessing? Or were his eyes playing
some ghastly joke upon him? No, impossible though it was—it was
true—the head was moving slowly to the fallen body. It placed itself
upon the shoulders, the body rose, and the creature, seemingly as good
as new, ran quickly to where its fellows were dragging the hapless
captive to its feet.

The watcher saw the creature take its prisoner by the arm and lead it
back to the enclosure, and even across the distance that separated them
from him he could note dejection and utter hopelessness in the bearing
of the prisoner, and, too, he was half convinced that it was a woman,
perhaps a red Martian of his own race. Could he be sure that this was
true he must make some effort to rescue her even though the customs of
his strange world required it only in case she was of his own country;
but he was not sure; she might not be a red Martian at all, or, if she
were, it was as possible that she sprang from an enemy people as not.
His first duty was to return to his own people with as little personal
risk as possible, and though the thought of adventure stirred his blood
he put the temptation aside with a sigh and turned away from the
peaceful and beautiful valley that he longed to enter, for it was his
intention to skirt its eastern edge and continue his search for Gathol
beyond.

As Gahan of Gathol turned his steps along the southern slopes of the
hills that bound Bantoom upon the south and east, his attention was
attracted toward a small cluster of trees a short distance to his
right. The low sun was casting long shadows. It would soon be night.
The trees were off the path that he had chosen and he had little mind
to be diverted from his way; but as he looked again he hesitated. There
was something there besides boles of trees, and underbrush. There were
suggestions of familiar lines of the handicraft of man. Gahan stopped
and strained his eyes in the direction of the thing that had arrested
his attention. No, he must be mistaken—the branches of the trees and a
low bush had taken on an unnatural semblance in the horizontal rays of
the setting sun. He turned and continued upon his way; but as he cast
another side glance in the direction of the object of his interest, the
sun's rays were shot back into his eyes from a glistening point of
radiance among the trees.

Gahan shook his head and walked quickly toward the mystery, determined
now to solve it. The shining object still lured him on and when he had
come closer to it his eyes went wide in surprise, for the thing they
saw was naught else than the jewel-encrusted emblem upon the prow of a
small flier. Gahan, his hand upon his short-sword, moved silently
forward, but as he neared the craft he saw that he had naught to fear,
for it was deserted. Then he turned his attention toward the emblem. As
its significance was flashed to his understanding his face paled and
his heart went cold—it was the insignia of the house of The Warlord of
Barsoom. Instantly he saw the dejected figure of the captive being led
back to her prison in the valley just beyond the hills. Tara of Helium!
And he had been so near to deserting her to her fate. The cold sweat
stood in beads upon his brow.

A hasty examination of the deserted craft unfolded to the young jed the
whole tragic story. The same tempest that had proved his undoing had
borne Tara of Helium to this distant country. Here, doubtless, she had
landed in hope of obtaining food and water since, without a propellor,
she could not hope to reach her native city, or any other friendly
port, other than by the merest caprice of Fate. The flier seemed intact
except for the missing propellor and the fact that it had been
carefully moored in the shelter of the clump of trees indicated that
the girl had expected to return to it, while the dust and leaves upon
its deck spoke of the long days, and even weeks, since she had landed.
Mute yet eloquent proofs, these things, that Tara of Helium was a
prisoner, and that she was the very prisoner whose bold dash for
liberty he had so recently witnessed he now had not the slightest doubt.

The question now revolved solely about her rescue. He knew to which
tower she had been taken—that much and no more. Of the number, the
kind, or the disposition of her captors he knew nothing; nor did he
care—for Tara of Helium he would face a hostile world alone. Rapidly
he considered several plans for succoring her; but the one that
appealed most strongly to him was that which offered the greatest
chance of escape for the girl should he be successful in reaching her.
His decision reached he turned his attention quickly toward the flier.
Casting off its lashings he dragged it out from beneath the trees, and,
mounting to the deck tested out the various controls. The motor started
at a touch and purred sweetly, the buoyancy tanks were well stocked,
and the ship answered perfectly to the controls which regulated her
altitude. There was nothing needed but a propellor to make her fit for
the long voyage to Helium. Gahan shrugged impatiently—there must not
be a propellor within a thousand haads. But what mattered it? The craft
even without a propellor would still answer the purpose his plan
required of it—provided the captors of Tara of Helium were a people
without ships, and he had seen nothing to suggest that they had ships.
The architecture of their towers and enclosures assured him that they
had not.

The sudden Barsoomian night had fallen. Cluros rode majestically the
high heavens. The rumbling roar of a banth reverberated among the
hills. Gahan of Gathol let the ship rise a few feet from the ground,
then, seizing a bow rope, he dropped over the side. To tow the little
craft was now a thing of ease, and as Gahan moved rapidly toward the
brow of the hill above Bantoom the flier floated behind him as lightly
as a swan upon a quiet lake. Now down the hill toward the tower dimly
visible in the moonlight the Gatholian turned his steps. Closer behind
him sounded the roar of the hunting banth. He wondered if the beast
sought him or was following some other spoor. He could not be delayed
now by any hungry beast of prey, for what might that very instant be
befalling Tara of Helium he could not guess; and so he hastened his
steps. But closer and closer came the horrid screams of the great
carnivore, and now he heard the swift fall of padded feet upon the
hillside behind him. He glanced back just in time to see the beast
break into a rapid charge. His hand leaped to the hilt of his
long-sword, but he did not draw, for in the same instant he saw the
futility of armed resistance, since behind the first banth came a herd
of at least a dozen others. There was but a single alternative to a
futile stand and that he grasped in the instant that he saw the
overwhelming numbers of his antagonists.

Springing lightly from the ground he swarmed up the rope toward the bow
of the flier. His weight drew the craft slightly lower and at the very
instant that the man drew himself to the deck at the bow of the vessel,
the leading banth sprang for the stern. Gahan leaped to his feet and
rushed toward the great beast in the hope of dislodging it before it
had succeeded in clambering aboard. At the same instant he saw that
others of the banths were racing toward them with the quite evident
intention of following their leader to the ship's deck. Should they
reach it in any numbers he would be lost. There was but a single hope.
Leaping for the altitude control Gahan pulled it wide. Simultaneously
three banths leaped for the deck. The craft rose swiftly. Gahan felt
the impact of a body against the keel, followed by the soft thuds of
the great bodies as they struck the ground beneath. His act had not
been an instant too soon. And now the leader had gained the deck and
stood at the stern with glaring eyes and snarling jaws. Gahan drew his
sword. The beast, possibly disconcerted by the novelty of its position,
did not charge. Instead it crept slowly toward its intended prey. The
craft was rising and Gahan placed a foot upon the control and stopped
the ascent. He did not wish to chance rising to some higher air current
that would bear him away. Already the craft was moving slowly toward
the tower, carried thither by the impetus of the banth's heavy body
leaping upon it from astern.

The man watched the slow approach of the monster, the slavering jowls,
the malignant expression of the devilish face. The creature, finding
the deck stable, appeared to be gaining confidence, and then the man
leaped suddenly to one side of the deck and the tiny flier heeled as
suddenly in response. The banth slipped and clutched frantically at the
deck. Gahan leaped in with his naked sword; the great beast caught
itself and reared upon its hind legs to reach forth and seize this
presumptuous mortal that dared question its right to the flesh it
craved; and then the man sprang to the opposite side of the deck. The
banth toppled sideways at the same instant that it attempted to spring;
a raking talon passed close to Gahan's head at the moment that his
sword lunged through the savage heart, and as the warrior wrenched his
blade from the carcass it slipped silently over the side of the ship.

A glance below showed that the vessel was drifting in the direction of
the tower to which Gahan had seen the prisoner led. In another moment
or two it would be directly over it. The man sprang to the control and
let the craft drop quickly toward the ground where followed the banths,
still hot for their prey. To land outside the enclosure spelled certain
death, while inside he could see many forms huddled upon the ground as
in sleep. The ship floated now but a few feet above the wall of the
enclosure. There was nothing for it but to risk all on a bold bid for
fortune, or drift helplessly past without hope of returning through the
banth-infested valley, from many points of which he could now hear the
roars and growls of these fierce Barsoomian lions.

Slipping over the side Gahan descended by the trailing anchor-rope
until his feet touched the top of the wall, where he had no difficulty
in arresting the slow drifting of the ship. Then he drew up the anchor
and lowered it inside the enclosure. Still there was no movement upon
the part of the sleepers beneath—they lay as dead men. Dull lights
shone from openings in the tower; but there was no sign of guard or
waking inmate. Clinging to the rope Gahan lowered himself within the
enclosure, where he had his first close view of the creatures lying
there in what he had thought sleep. With a half smothered exclamation
of horror the man drew back from the headless bodies of the rykors. At
first he thought them the corpses of decapitated humans like himself,
which was quite bad enough; but when he saw them move and realized that
they were endowed with life, his horror and disgust became even greater.

Here then was the explanation of the thing he had witnessed that
afternoon, when Tara of Helium had struck
the head from her captor and Gahan had seen the head crawl back to its body. And to
think that the pearl of Helium was in the power of such hideous things
as these. Again the man shuddered, but he hastened to make fast the
flier, clamber again to its deck and lower it to the floor of the
enclosure. Then he strode toward a door in the base of the tower,
stepping lightly over the recumbent forms of the unconscious rykors,
and crossing the threshold disappeared within.

CHAPTER VIII

CLOSE WORK

Ghek, in his happier days third foreman of the fields of Luud, sat
nursing his anger and his humiliation. Recently something had awakened
within him the existence of which he had never before even dreamed. Had
the influence of the strange captive woman aught to do with this unrest
and dissatisfaction? He did not know. He missed the soothing influence
of the noise she called singing. Could it be that there were other
things more desirable than cold logic and undefiled brain power? Was
well balanced imperfection more to be sought after then, than the high
development of a single characteristic? He thought of the great,
ultimate brain toward which all kaldanes were striving. It would be
deaf, and dumb, and blind. A thousand beautiful strangers might sing
and dance about it, but it could derive no pleasure from the singing or
the dancing since it would possess no perceptive faculties. Already had
the kaldanes shut themselves off from most of the gratifications of the
senses. Ghek wondered if much was to be gained by denying themselves
still further, and with the thought came a question as to the whole
fabric of their theory. After all perhaps the girl was right; what
purpose could a great brain serve sealed in the bowels of the earth?

And he, Ghek, was to die for this theory. Luud had decreed it. The
injustice of it overwhelmed him with rage. But he was helpless. There
was no escape. Beyond the enclosure the banths awaited him; within, his
own kind, equally as merciless and ferocious. Among them there was no
such thing as love, or loyalty, or friendship—they were just brains.
He might kill Luud; but what would that profit him? Another king would
be loosed from his sealed chamber and Ghek would be killed. He did not
know it but he would not even have the poor satisfaction of satisfied
revenge, since he was not capable of feeling so abstruse a sentiment.

Ghek, mounted upon his rykor, paced the floor of the tower chamber in
which he had been ordered to remain. Ordinarily he would have accepted
the sentence of Luud with perfect equanimity, since it was but the
logical result of reason; but now it seemed different. The stranger
woman had bewitched him. Life appeared a pleasant thing—there were
great possibilities in it. The dream of the ultimate brain had receded
into a tenuous haze far in the background of his thoughts.

At that moment there appeared in the doorway of the chamber a red
warrior with naked sword. He was a male counterpart of the prisoner
whose sweet voice had undermined the cold, calculating reason of the
kaldane.

"Silence!" admonished the newcomer, his straight brows gathered in an
ominous frown and the point of his longsword playing menacingly before
the eyes of the kaldane. "I seek the woman, Tara of Helium. Where is
she? If you value your life speak quickly and speak the truth."

If he valued his life! It was a truth that Ghek had but just learned.
He thought quickly. After all, a great brain is not without its uses.
Perhaps here lay escape from the sentence of Luud.

"You are of her kind?" he asked. "You come to rescue her?"

"Yes."

"Listen, then. I have befriended her, and because of this I am to die.
If I help you to liberate her, will you take me with you?"

Gahan of Gathol eyed the weird creature from crown to foot—the perfect
body, the grotesque head, the expressionless face. Among such as these
had the beautiful daughter of Helium been held captive for days and
weeks.

"If she lives and is unharmed," he said, "I will take you with us."

"When they took her from me she was alive and unharmed," replied Ghek.
"I cannot say what has befallen her since. Luud sent for her."

"Who is Luud? Where is he? Lead me to him." Gahan spoke quickly in
tones vibrant with authority.

"Come, then," said Ghek, leading the way from the apartment and down a
stairway toward the underground burrows of the kaldanes. "Luud is my
king. I will take you to his chambers."

"Hasten!" urged Gahan.

"Sheathe your sword," warned Ghek, "so that should we pass others of my
kind I may say to them that you are a new prisoner with some likelihood
of winning their belief."

Gahan did as he was bid, but warning the kaldane that his hand was ever
ready at his dagger's hilt.

"You need have no fear of treachery," said Ghek. "My only hope of life
lies in you."

"And if you fail me," Gahan admonished him, "I can promise you as sure
a death as even your king might guarantee you."

Ghek made no reply, but moved rapidly through the winding subterranean
corridors until Gahan began to realize how truly was he in the hands of
this strange monster. If the fellow should prove false it would profit
Gahan nothing to slay him, since without his guidance the red man might
never hope to retrace his way to the tower and freedom.

Twice they met and were accosted by other kaldanes; but in both
instances Ghek's simple statement that he was taking a new prisoner to
Luud appeared to allay all suspicion, and then at last they came to the
ante-chamber of the king.

"Here, now, red man, thou must fight, if ever," whispered Ghek. "Enter
there!" and he pointed to a doorway before them.

"And you?" asked Gahan, still fearful of treachery.

"My rykor is powerful," replied the kaldane. "I shall accompany you and
fight at your side. As well die thus as in torture later at the will of
Luud. Come!"

But Gahan had already crossed the room and entered the chamber beyond.
Upon the opposite side of the room was a circular opening guarded by
two warriors. Beyond this opening he could see two figures struggling
upon the floor, and the fleeting glimpse he had of one of the faces
suddenly endowed him with the strength of ten warriors and the ferocity
of a wounded banth. It was Tara of Helium, fighting for her honor or
her life.

The warriors, startled by the unexpected appearance of a red man, stood
for a moment in dumb amazement, and in that moment Gahan of Gathol was
upon them, and one was down, a sword-thrust through its heart.

"Strike at the heads," whispered the voice of Ghek in Gahan's ear. The
latter saw the head of the fallen warrior crawl quickly within the
aperture leading to the chamber where he had seen Tara of Helium in the
clutches of a headless body. Then the sword of Ghek struck the kaldane
of the remaining warrior from its rykor and Gahan ran his sword through
the repulsive head.

Instantly the red warrior leaped for the aperture, while close behind
him came Ghek.

"Look not upon the eyes of Luud," warned the kaldane, "or you are lost."

Within the chamber Gahan saw Tara of Helium in the clutches of a mighty
body, while close to the wall upon the opposite side of the apartment
crouched the hideous, spider-like Luud. Instantly the king realized the
menace to himself and sought to fasten his eyes upon the eyes of Gahan,
and in doing so he was forced to relax his concentration upon the rykor
in whose embraces Tara struggled, so that almost immediately the girl
found herself able to tear away from the awful, headless thing.

As she rose quickly to her feet she saw for the first time the cause of
the interruption of Luud's plans. A red warrior! Her heart leaped in
rejoicing and thanksgiving. What miracle of fate had sent him to her?
She did not recognize him, though, this travel-worn warrior in the
plain harness which showed no single jewel. How could she have guessed
him the same as the scintillant creature of platinum and diamonds that
she had seen for a brief hour under such different circumstances at the
court of her august sire?

Luud saw Ghek following the strange warrior into the chamber. "Strike
him down, Ghek!" commanded the king. "Strike down the stranger and your
life shall be yours."

Gahan glanced at the hideous face of the king.

"Seek not his eyes," screamed Tara in warning; but it was too late.
Already the horrid hypnotic gaze of the king kaldane had seized upon
the eyes of Gahan. The red warrior hesitated in his stride. His sword
point drooped slowly toward the floor. Tara glanced toward Ghek. She
saw the creature glaring with his expressionless eyes upon the broad
back of the stranger. She saw the hand of the creature's rykor creeping
stealthily toward the hilt of its dagger.

And then Tara of Helium raised her eyes aloft and poured forth the
notes of Mars' most beautiful melody, The Song of Love.

Ghek drew his dagger from its sheath. His eyes turned toward the
singing girl. Luud's glance wavered from the eyes of the man to the
face of Tara, and the instant that the latter's song distracted his
attention from his victim, Gahan of Gathol shook himself and as with a
supreme effort of will forced his eyes to the wall above Luud's hideous
head. Ghek raised his dagger above his right shoulder, took a single
quick step forward, and struck. The girl's song ended in a stifled
scream as she leaped forward with the evident intention of frustrating
the kaldane's purpose; but she was too late, and well it was, for an
instant later she realized the purpose of Ghek's act as she saw the
dagger fly from his hand, pass Gahan's shoulder, and sink full to the
guard in the soft face of Luud.

"Come!" cried the assassin, "we have no time to lose," and started for
the aperture through which they had entered the chamber; but in his
stride he paused as his glance was arrested by the form of the mighty
rykor lying prone upon the floor—a king's rykor; the most beautiful,
the most powerful, that the breeders of Bantoom could produce. Ghek
realized that in his escape he could take with him but a single rykor,
and there was none in Bantoom that could give him better service than
this giant lying here. Quickly he transferred himself to the shoulders
of the great, inert hulk. Instantly the latter was transformed to a
sentient creature, filled with pulsing life and alert energy.

"Now," said the kaldane, "we are ready. Let whoso would revert to
nothingness impede me." Even as he spoke he stooped and crawled into
the chamber beyond, while Gahan, taking Tara by the arm, motioned her
to follow. The girl looked him full in the eyes for the first time.
"The Gods of my people have been kind," she said; "you came just in
time. To the thanks of Tara of Helium shall be added those of The
Warlord of Barsoom and his people. Thy reward shall surpass thy
greatest desires."

Gahan of Gathol saw that she did not recognize him, and quickly he
checked the warm greeting that had been upon his lips.

"Be thou Tara of Helium or another," he replied, "is immaterial, to
serve thus a red woman of Barsoom is in itself sufficient reward."

As they spoke the girl was making her way through the aperture after
Ghek, and presently all three had quitted the apartments of Luud and
were moving rapidly along the winding corridors toward the tower. Ghek
repeatedly urged them to greater speed, but the red men of Barsoom were
never keen for retreat, and so the two that followed him moved all too
slowly for the kaldane.

"There are none to impede our progress," urged Gahan, "so why tax the
strength of the Princess by needless haste?"

"I fear not so much opposition ahead, for there are none there who know
the thing that has been done in Luud's chambers this night; but the
kaldane of one of the warriors who stood guard before Luud's apartment
escaped, and you may count it a truth that he lost no time in seeking
aid. That it did not come before we left is due solely to the rapidity
with which events transpired in the king's* room. Long before we reach
the tower they will be upon us from behind, and that they will come in
numbers far superior to ours and with great and powerful rykors I well
know."

* I have used the word king in describing the rulers or chiefs of the
Bantoomian swarms, since the word itself is unpronounceable in English,
nor does jed or jeddak of the red Martian tongue have quite the same
meaning as the Bantoomian word, which has practically the same
significance as the English word queen as applied to the leader of a
swarm of bees.—J. C.

Nor was Ghek's prophecy long in fulfilment. Presently the sounds of
pursuit became audible in the distant clanking of accouterments and the
whistling call to arms of the kaldanes.

"The tower is but a short distance now," cried Ghek. "Make haste while
yet you may, and if we can barricade it until the sun rises we may yet
escape."

"We shall need no barricades for we shall not linger in the tower,"
replied Gahan, moving more rapidly as he realized from the volume of
sound behind them the great number of their pursuers.

"But we may not go further than the tower tonight," insisted Ghek.
"Beyond the tower await the banths and certain death."

Gahan smiled. "Fear not the banths," he assured them. "Can we but reach
the enclosure a little ahead of our pursuers we have naught to fear
from any evil power within this accursed valley."

Ghek made no reply, nor did his expressionless face denote either
belief or skepticism. The girl looked into the face of the man
questioningly. She did not understand.

"Your flier," he said. "It is moored before the tower."

Her face lighted with pleasure and relief. "You found it!" she
exclaimed. "What fortune!"

"It was fortune indeed," he replied. "Since it not only told that you
were a prisoner here; but it saved me from the banths as I was crossing
the valley from the hills to this tower into which I saw them take you
this afternoon after your brave attempt at escape."

"How did you know it was I?" she asked, her puzzled brows scanning his
face as though she sought to recall from past memories some scene in
which he figured.

"Who is there but knows of the loss of the Princess Tara of Helium?" he
replied. "And when I saw the device upon your flier I knew at once,
though I had not known when I saw you among them in the fields a short
time earlier. Too great was the distance for me to make certain whether
the captive was man or woman. Had chance not divulged the hiding place
of your flier I had gone my way, Tara of Helium. I shudder to think how
close was the chance at that. But for the momentary shining of the sun
upon the emblazoned device on the prow of your craft, I had passed on
unknowing."

The girl shuddered. "The Gods sent you," she whispered reverently.

"The Gods sent me, Tara of Helium," he replied.

"But I do not recognize you," she said. "I have tried to recall you,
but I have failed. Your name, what may it be?"

"It is not strange that so great a princess should not recall the face
of every roving panthan of Barsoom," he replied with a smile.

"But your name?" insisted the girl.

"Call me Turan," replied the man, for it had come to him that if Tara
of Helium recognized him as the man whose impetuous avowal of love had
angered her that day in the gardens of The Warlord, her situation might
be rendered infinitely less bearable than were she to believe him a
total stranger. Then, too, as a simple panthan* he might win a greater
degree of her confidence by his loyalty and faithfulness and a place in
her esteem that seemed to have been closed to the resplendent Jed of
Gathol.

* Soldier of Fortune; free-lance warrior.

They had reached the tower now, and as they entered it from the
subterranean corridor a backward glance revealed the van of their
pursuers—hideous kaldanes mounted upon swift and powerful rykors. As
rapidly as might be the three ascended the stairways leading to the
ground level, but after them, even more rapidly, came the minions of
Luud. Ghek led the way, grasping one of Tara's hands the more easily to
guide and assist her, while Gahan of Gathol followed a few paces in
their rear, his bared sword ready for the assault that all realized
must come upon them now before ever they reached the enclosure and the
flier.

"Let Ghek drop behind to your side," said Tara, "and fight with you."

"There is but room for a single blade in these narrow corridors,"
replied the Gatholian. "Hasten on with Ghek and win to the deck of the
flier. Have your hand upon the control, and if I come far enough ahead
of these to reach the dangling cable you can rise at my word and I can
clamber to the deck at my leisure; but if one of them emerges first
into the enclosure you will know that I shall never come, and you will
rise quickly and trust to the Gods of our ancestors to give you a fair
breeze in the direction of a more hospitable people."

Tara of Helium shook her head. "We will not desert you, panthan," she
said.

Gahan, ignoring her reply, spoke above her head to Ghek. "Take her to
the craft moored within the enclosure," he commanded. "It is our only
hope. Alone, I may win to its deck; but have I to wait upon you two at
the last moment the chances are that none of us will escape. Do as I
bid." His tone was haughty and arrogant—the tone of a man who has
commanded other men from birth, and whose will has been law. Tara of
Helium was both angered and vexed. She was not accustomed to being
either commanded or ignored, but with all her royal pride she was no
fool, and she knew the man was right, that he was risking his life to
save hers, so she hastened on with Ghek as she was bid, and after the
first flush of anger she smiled, for the realization came to her that
this fellow was but a rough untutored warrior, skilled not in the finer
usages of cultured courts. His heart was right, though; a brave and
loyal heart, and gladly she forgave him the offense of his tone and
manner. But what a tone! Recollection of it gave her sudden pause.
Panthans were rough and ready men. Often they rose to positions of high
command, so it was not the note of authority in the fellow's voice that
seemed remarkable; but something else—a quality that was indefinable,
yet as distinct as it was familiar. She had heard it before when the
voice of her great-grandsire, Tardos Mors, Jeddak of Helium, had risen
in command; and in the voice of her grandfather, Mors Kajak, the jed;
and in the ringing tones of her illustrious sire, John Carter, Warlord
of Barsoom, when he addressed his warriors.

But now she had no time to speculate upon so trivial a thing, for
behind her came the sudden clash of arms and she knew that Turan, the
panthan, had crossed swords with the first of their pursuers. As she
glanced back he was still visible beyond a turn in the stairway, so
that she could see the quick swordplay that ensued. Daughter of a
world's greatest swordsman, she knew well the finest points of the art.
She saw the clumsy attack of the kaldane and the quick, sure return of
the panthan. As she looked down from above upon his almost naked body,
trapped only in the simplest of unadorned harness, and saw the play of
the lithe muscles beneath the red-bronze skin, and witnessed the quick
and delicate play of his sword point, to her sense of obligation was
added a spontaneous admission of admiration that was but the natural
tribute of a woman to skill and bravery and, perchance, some trifle to
manly symmetry and strength.

Three times the panthan's blade changed its position—once to fend a
savage cut; once to feint; and once to thrust. And as he withdrew it
from the last position the kaldane rolled lifeless from its stumbling
rykor and Turan sprang quickly down the steps to engage the next
behind, and then Ghek had drawn Tara upward and a turn in the stairway
shut the battling panthan from her view; but still she heard the ring
of steel on steel, the clank of accouterments and the shrill whistling
of the kaldanes. Her heart moved her to turn back to the side of her
brave defender; but her judgment told her that she could serve him best
by being ready at the control of the flier at the moment he reached the
enclosure.

CHAPTER IX

ADRIFT OVER STRANGE REGIONS

Presently Ghek pushed aside a door that opened from the stairway, and
before them Tara saw the moonlight flooding the walled court where the
headless rykors lay beside their feeding-troughs. She saw the perfect
bodies, muscled as the best of her father's fighting men, and the
females whose figures would have been the envy of many of Helium's most
beautiful women. Ah, if she could but endow these with the power to
act! Then indeed might the safety of the panthan be assured; but they
were only poor lumps of clay, nor had she the power to quicken them to
life. Ever must they lie thus until dominated by the cold, heartless
brain of the kaldane. The girl sighed in pity even as she shuddered in
disgust as she picked her way over and among the sprawled creatures
toward the flier.

Quickly she and Ghek mounted to the deck after the latter had cast off
the moorings. Tara tested the control, raising and lowering the ship a
few feet within the walled space. It responded perfectly. Then she
lowered it to the ground again and waited. From the open doorway came
the sounds of conflict, now nearing them, now receding. The girl,
having witnessed her champion's skill, had little fear of the outcome.
Only a single antagonist could face him at a time upon the narrow
stairway, he had the advantage of position and of the defensive, and he
was a master of the sword while they were clumsy bunglers by
comparison. Their sole advantage was in their numbers, unless they
might find a way to come upon him from behind.

She paled at the thought. Could she have seen him she might have been
further perturbed, for he took no advantage of many opportunities to
win nearer the enclosure. He fought coolly, but with a savage
persistence that bore little semblance to purely defensive action.
Often he clambered over the body of a fallen foe to leap against the
next behind, and once there lay five dead kaldanes behind him, so far
had he pushed back his antagonists. They did not know it; these
kaldanes that he fought, nor did the girl awaiting him upon the flier,
but Gahan of Gathol was engaged in a more alluring sport than winning
to freedom, for he was avenging the indignities that had been put upon
the woman he loved; but presently he realized that he might be
jeopardizing her safety uselessly, and so he struck down another before
him and turning leaped quickly up the stairway, while the leading
kaldanes slipped upon the brain-covered floor and stumbled in pursuit.

Gahan reached the enclosure twenty paces ahead of them and raced toward
the flier. "Rise!" he shouted to the girl. "I will ascend the cable."

Slowly the small craft rose from the ground as Gahan leaped the inert
bodies of the rykors lying in his path. The first of the pursuers
sprang from the tower just as Gahan seized the trailing rope.

"Faster!" he shouted to the girl above, "or they will drag us down!"
But the ship seemed scarcely to move, though in reality she was rising
as rapidly as might have been expected of a one-man flier carrying a
load of three. Gahan swung free above the top of the wall, but the end
of the rope still dragged the ground as the kaldanes reached it. They
were pouring in a steady stream from the tower into the enclosure. The
leader seized the rope.

"Quick!" he cried. "Lay hold and we will drag them down."

It needed but the weight of a few to accomplish his design. The ship
was stopped in its flight and then, to the horror of the girl, she felt
it being dragged steadily downward. Gahan, too, realized the danger and
the necessity for instant action. Clinging to the rope with his left
hand, he had wound a leg about it, leaving his right hand free for his
long-sword which he had not sheathed. A downward cut clove the soft
head of a kaldane, and another severed the taut rope beneath the
panthan's feet. The girl heard a sudden renewal of the shrill whistling
of her foes, and at the same time she realized that the craft was
rising again. Slowly it drifted upward, out of reach of the enemy, and
a moment later she saw the figure of Turan clamber over the side. For
the first time in many weeks her heart was filled with the joy of
thanksgiving; but her first thought was of another.

"You are not wounded?" she asked.

"No, Tara of Helium," he replied. "They were scarce worth the effort of
my blade, and never were they a menace to me because of their swords."

"They should have slain you easily," said Ghek. "So great and highly
developed is the power of reason among us that they should have known
before you struck just where, logically, you must seek to strike, and
so they should have been able to parry your every thrust and easily
find an opening to your heart."

"But they did not, Ghek," Gahan reminded him. "Their theory of
development is wrong, for it does not tend toward a perfectly balanced
whole. You have developed the brain and neglected the body and you can
never do with the hands of another what you can do with your own hands.
Mine are trained to the sword—every muscle responds instantly and
accurately, and almost mechanically, to the need of the instant. I am
scarcely objectively aware that I think when I fight, so quickly does
my point take advantage of every opening, or spring to my defense if I
am threatened that it is almost as though the cold steel had eyes and
brains. You, with your kaldane brain and your rykor body, never could
hope to achieve in the same degree of perfection those things that I
can achieve. Development of the brain should not be the sum total of
human endeavor. The richest and happiest peoples will be those who
attain closest to well-balanced perfection of both mind and body, and
even these must always be short of perfection. In absolute and general
perfection lies stifling monotony and death. Nature must have
contrasts; she must have shadows as well as highlights; sorrow with
happiness; both wrong and right; and sin as well as virtue."

"Always have I been taught differently," replied Ghek; "but since I
have known this woman and you, of another race, I have come to believe
that there may be other standards fully as high and desirable as those
of the kaldanes. At least I have had a glimpse of the thing you call
happiness and I realize that it may be good even though I have no means
of expressing it. I cannot laugh nor smile, and yet within me is a
sense of contentment when this woman sings—a sense that seems to open
before me wondrous vistas of beauty and unguessed pleasure that far
transcend the cold joys of a perfectly functioning brain. I would that
I had been born of thy race."

Caught by a gentle current of air the flier was drifting slowly toward
the northeast across the valley of Bantoom. Below them lay the
cultivated fields, and one after another they passed over the strange
towers of Moak and Nolach and the other kings of the swarms that
inhabited this weird and terrible land. Within each enclosure
surrounding the towers grovelled the rykors, repellent, headless
things, beautiful yet hideous.

"A lesson, those," remarked Gahan, indicating the rykors in an
enclosure above which they were drifting at the time, "to that
fortunately small minority of our race which worships the flesh and
makes a god of appetite. You know them, Tara of Helium; they can tell
you exactly what they had at the midday meal two weeks ago, and how the
loin of the thoat should be prepared, and what drink should be served
with the rump of the zitidar."

Tara of Helium laughed. "But not one of them could tell you the name of
the man whose painting took the Jeddak's Award in The Temple of Beauty
this year," she said. "Like the rykors, their development has not been
balanced."

"Fortunate indeed are those in which there is combined a little good
and a little bad, a little knowledge of many things outside their own
callings, a capacity for love and a capacity for hate, for such as
these can look with tolerance upon all, unbiased by the egotism of him
whose head is so heavy on one side that all his brains run to that
point."

As Gahan ceased speaking Ghek made a little noise in his throat as one
does who would attract attention. "You speak as one who has thought
much upon many subjects. Is it, then, possible that you of the red race
have pleasure in thought? Do you know aught of the joys of
introspection? Do reason and logic form any part of your lives?"

"Most assuredly," replied Gahan, "but not to the extent of occupying
all our time—at least not objectively. You, Ghek, are an example of
the egotism of which I spoke. Because you and your kind devote your
lives to the worship of mind, you believe that no other created beings
think. And possibly we do not in the sense that you do, who think only
of yourselves and your great brains. We think of many things that
concern the welfare of a world. Had it not been for the red men of
Barsoom even the kaldanes had perished from the planet, for while you
may live without air the things upon which you depend for existence
cannot, and there had been no air in sufficient quantities upon Barsoom
these many ages had not a red man planned and built the great
atmosphere plant which gave new life to a dying world.

"What have all the brains of all the kaldanes that have ever lived done
to compare with that single idea of a single red man?"

Ghek was stumped. Being a kaldane he knew that brains spelled the sum
total of universal achievement, but it had never occurred to him that
they should be put to use in practical and profitable ways. He turned
away and looked down upon the valley of his ancestors across which he
was slowly drifting, into what unknown world? He should be a veritable
god among the underlings, he knew; but somehow a doubt assailed him. It
was evident that these two from that other world were ready to question
his preeminence. Even through his great egotism was filtering a
suspicion that they patronized him; perhaps even pitied him. Then he
began to wonder what was to become of him. No longer would he have many
rykors to do his bidding. Only this single one and when it died there
could not be another. When it tired, Ghek must lie almost helpless
while it rested. He wished that he had never seen this red woman. She
had brought him only discontent and dishonor and now exile. Presently
Tara of Helium commenced to hum a tune and Ghek, the kaldane, was
content.

Gently they drifted beneath the hurtling moons above the mad shadows of
a Martian night. The roaring of the banths came in diminishing volume
to their ears as their craft passed on beyond the boundaries of
Bantoom, leaving behind the terrors of that unhappy land. But to what
were they being borne? The girl looked at the man sitting cross-legged
upon the deck of the tiny flier, gazing off into the night ahead,
apparently absorbed in thought.

"Where are we?" she asked. "Toward what are we drifting?"

Turan shrugged his broad shoulders. "The stars tell me that we are
drifting toward the northeast," he replied, "but where we are, or what
lies in our path I cannot even guess. A week since I could have sworn
that I knew what lay behind each succeeding ridge that I approached;
but now I admit in all humility that I have no conception of what lies
a mile in any direction. Tara of Helium, I am lost, and that is all
that I can tell you."

He was smiling and the girl smiled back at him. There was a slightly
puzzled expression on her face—there was something tantalizingly
familiar about that smile of his. She had met many a panthan—they came
and went, following the fighting of a world—but she could not place
this one.

"From what country are you, Turan?" she asked suddenly.

"Know you not, Tara of Helium," he countered, "that a panthan has no
country? Today he fights beneath the banner of one master, tomorrow
beneath that of another."

"But you must own allegiance to some country when you are not
fighting," she insisted. "What banner, then, owns you now?"

He rose and stood before her, then, bowing low. "And I am acceptable,"
he said, "I serve beneath the banner of the daughter of The Warlord
now—and forever."

She reached forth and touched his arm with a slim brown hand. "Your
services are accepted," she said; "and if ever we reach Helium I
promise that your reward shall be all that your heart could desire."

"I shall serve faithfully, hoping for that reward," he said; but Tara
of Helium did not guess what was in his mind, thinking rather that he
was mercenary. For how could the proud daughter of The Warlord guess
that a simple panthan aspired to her hand and heart?

The dawn found them moving rapidly over an unfamiliar landscape. The
wind had increased during the night and had borne them far from
Bantoom. The country below them was rough and inhospitable. No water
was visible and the surface of the ground was cut by deep gorges, while
nowhere was any but the most meager vegetation discernible. They saw no
life of any nature, nor was there any indication that the country could
support life. For two days they drifted over this horrid wasteland.
They were without food or water and suffered accordingly. Ghek had
temporarily abandoned his rykor after enlisting Turan's assistance in
lashing it safely to the deck. The less he used it the less would its
vitality be spent. Already it was showing the effects of privation.
Ghek crawled about the vessel like a great spider—over the side, down
beneath the keel, and up over the opposite rail. He seemed equally at
home one place as another. For his companions, however, the quarters
were cramped, for the deck of a one-man flier is not intended for three.

Turan sought always ahead for signs of water. Water they must have, or
that water-giving plant which makes life possible upon many of the
seemingly arid areas of Mars; but there was neither the one nor the
other for these two days and now the third night was upon them. The
girl did not complain, but Turan knew that she must be suffering and
his heart was heavy within him. Ghek suffered least of all, and he
explained to them that his kind could exist for long periods without
food or water. Turan almost cursed him as he saw the form of Tara of
Helium slowly wasting away before his eyes, while the hideous kaldane
seemed as full of vitality as ever.

"There are circumstances," remarked Ghek, "under which a gross and
material body is less desirable than a highly developed brain."

Turan looked at him, but said nothing. Tara of Helium smiled faintly.
"One cannot blame him," she said, "were we not a bit boastful in the
pride of our superiority? When our stomachs were filled," she added.

"Perhaps there is something to be said for their system," Turan
admitted. "If we could but lay aside our stomachs when they cried for
food and water I have no doubt but that we should do so."

A new day had dawned, revealing a less desolate country and renewing
again the hope that had been low within them. Suddenly Turan leaned
forward, pointing ahead.

"Look, Tara of Helium!" he cried. "A city! As I am Ga—as I am Turan
the panthan, a city."

Far in the distance the domes and walls and slender towers of a city
shone in the rising sun. Quickly the man seized the control and the
ship dropped rapidly behind a low range of intervening hills, for well
Turan knew that they must not be seen until they could discover whether
friend or foe inhabited the strange city. Chances were that they were
far from the abode of friends and so must the panthan move with the
utmost caution; but there was a city and where a city was, was water,
even though it were a deserted city, and food if it were inhabited.

To the red man food and water, even in the citadel of an enemy, meant
food and drink for Tara of Helium. He would accept it from friends or
he would take it from enemies. Just so long as it was there he would
have it—and there was shown the egotism of the fighting man, though
Turan did not see it, nor Tara who came from a long line of fighting
men; but Ghek might have smiled had he known how.

Turan permitted the flier to drift closer behind the screening hills,
and then when he could advance no farther without fear of discovery, he
dropped the craft gently to ground in a little ravine, and leaping over
the side made her fast to a stout tree. For several moments they
discussed their plans—whether it would be best to wait where they were
until darkness hid their movements and then approach the city in search
of food and water, or approach it now, taking advantage of what cover
they could, until they could glean something of the nature of its
inhabitants.

It was Turan's plan which finally prevailed. They would approach as
close as safety dictated in the hope of finding water outside the city;
food, too, perhaps. If they did not they could at least reconnoiter the
ground by daylight, and then when night came Turan could quickly come
close to the city and in comparative safety prosecute his search for
food and drink.

Following the ravine upward they finally topped the summit of the
ridge, from which they had an excellent view of that part of the city
which lay nearest them, though themselves hidden by the brush behind
which they crouched. Ghek had resumed his rykor, which had suffered
less than either Tara or Turan through their enforced fast.

The first glance at the city, now much closer than when they had first
discovered it, revealed the fact that it was inhabited. Banners and
pennons broke from many a staff. People were moving about the gate
before them. The high white walls were paced by sentinels at far
intervals. Upon the roofs of higher buildings the women could be seen
airing the sleeping silks and furs. Turan watched it all in silence for
some time.

"I do not know them," he said at last. "I cannot guess what city this
may be. But it is an ancient city. Its people have no fliers and no
firearms. It must be old indeed."

"How do you know they have not these things?" asked the girl.

"There are no landing-stages upon the roofs—not one that can be seen
from here; while were we looking similarly at Helium we would see
hundreds. And they have no firearms because their defenses are all
built to withstand the attack of spear and arrow, with spear and arrow.
They are an ancient people."

"If they are ancient perhaps they are friendly," suggested the girl.
"Did we not learn as children in the history of our planet that it was
once peopled by a friendly, peace-loving race?"

"But I fear they are not as ancient as that," replied Turan, laughing.
"It has been long ages since the men of Barsoom loved peace."

"My father loves peace," returned the girl.

"And yet he is always at war," said the man.

She laughed. "But he says he likes peace."

"We all like peace," he rejoined; "peace with honor; but our neighbors
will not let us have it, and so we must fight."

"And to fight well men must like to fight," she added.

"And to like to fight they must know how to fight," he said, "for no
man likes to do the thing that he does not know how to do well."

"Or that some other man can do better than he."

"And so always there will be wars and men will fight," he concluded,
"for always the men with hot blood in their veins will practice the art
of war."

"We have settled a great question," said the girl, smiling; "but our
stomachs are still empty."

"Your panthan is neglecting his duty," replied Turan; "and how can he
with the great reward always before his eyes!"

She did not guess in what literal a sense he spoke.

"I go forthwith," he continued, "to wrest food and drink from the
ancients."

"No," she cried, laying a hand upon his arm, "not yet. They would slay
you or make you prisoner. You are a brave panthan and a mighty one, but
you cannot overcome a city singlehanded."

She smiled up into his face and her hand still lay upon his arm. He
felt the thrill of hot blood coursing through his veins. He could have
seized her in his arms and crushed her to him. There was only Ghek the
kaldane there, but there was something stronger within him that
restrained his hand. Who may define it—that inherent chivalry that
renders certain men the natural protectors of women?

From their vantage point they saw a body of armed warriors ride forth
from the gate, and winding along a well-beaten road pass from sight
about the foot of the hill from which they watched. The men were red,
like themselves, and they rode the small saddle thoats of the red race.
Their trappings were barbaric and magnificent, and in their head-dress
were many feathers as had been the custom of ancients. They were armed
with swords and long spears and they rode almost naked, their bodies
being painted in ochre and blue and white. There were, perhaps, a score
of them in the party and as they galloped away on their tireless mounts
they presented a picture at once savage and beautiful.

"They have the appearance of splendid warriors," said Turan. "I have a
great mind to walk boldly into their city and seek service."

Tara shook her head. "Wait," she admonished. "What would I do without
you, and if you were captured how could you collect your reward?"

"I should escape," he said. "At any rate I shall try it," and he
started to rise.

"You shall not," said the girl, her tone all authority.

The man looked at her quickly—questioningly.

"You have entered my service," she said, a trifle haughtily.

"You have entered my service for hire and you shall do as I bid you."

Turan sank down beside her again with a half smile upon his lips. "It
is yours to command, Princess," he said.

The day passed. Ghek, tiring of the sunlight, had deserted his rykor
and crawled down a hole he had discovered close by. Tara and Turan
reclined beneath the scant shade of a small tree. They watched the
people coming and going through the gate. The party of horsemen did not
return. A small herd of zitidars was driven into the city during the
day, and once a caravan of broad-wheeled carts drawn by these huge
animals wound out of the distant horizon and came down to the city. It,
too, passed from their sight within the gateway. Then darkness came and
Tara of Helium bid her panthan search for food and drink; but she
cautioned him against attempting to enter the city. Before he left her
he bent and kissed her hand as a warrior may kiss the hand of his queen.

CHAPTER X

ENTRAPPED

Turan the panthan approached the strange city under cover of the
darkness. He entertained little hope of finding either food or water
outside the wall, but he would try and then, if he failed, he would
attempt to make his way into the city, for Tara of Helium must have
sustenance and have it soon. He saw that the walls were poorly
sentineled, but they were sufficiently high to render an attempt to
scale them foredoomed to failure. Taking advantage of underbrush and
trees, Turan managed to reach the base of the wall without detection.
Silently he moved north past the gateway which was closed by a massive
gate which effectively barred even the slightest glimpse within the
city beyond. It was Turan's hope to find upon the north side of the
city away from the hills a level plain where grew the crops of the
inhabitants, and here too water from their irrigating system, but
though he traveled far along that seemingly interminable wall he found
no fields nor any water. He searched also for some means of ingress to
the city, yet here, too, failure was his only reward, and now as he
went keen eyes watched him from above and a silent stalker kept pace
with him for a time upon the summit of the wall; but presently the
shadower descended to the pavement within and hurrying swiftly raced
ahead of the stranger without.

He came presently to a small gate beside which was a low building and
before the doorway of the building a warrior standing guard. He spoke a
few quick words to the warrior and then entered the building only to
return almost immediately to the street, followed by fully forty
warriors. Cautiously opening the gate the fellow peered carefully along
the wall upon the outside in the direction from which he had come.
Evidently satisfied, he issued a few words of instruction to those
behind him, whereupon half the warriors returned to the interior of the
building, while the other half followed the man stealthily through the
gateway where they crouched low among the shrubbery in a half circle
just north of the gateway which they had left open. Here they waited in
utter silence, nor had they long to wait before Turan the panthan came
cautiously along the base of the wall. To the very gate he came and
when he found it and that it was open he paused for a moment,
listening; then he approached and looked within. Assured that there was
none within sight to apprehend him he stepped through the gateway into
the city.

He found himself in a narrow street that paralleled the wall. Upon the
opposite side rose buildings of an architecture unknown to him, yet
strangely beautiful. While the buildings were packed closely together
there seemed to be no two alike and their fronts were of all shapes and
heights and of many hues. The skyline was broken by spire and dome and
minaret and tall, slender towers, while the walls supported many a
balcony and in the soft light of Cluros, the farther moon, now low in
the west, he saw, to his surprise and consternation, the figures of
people upon the balconies. Directly opposite him were two women and a
man. They sat leaning upon the rail of the balcony looking, apparently,
directly at him; but if they saw him they gave no sign.

Turan hesitated a moment in the face of almost certain discovery and
then, assured that they must take him for one of their own people, he
moved boldly into the avenue. Having no idea of the direction in which
he might best hope to find what he sought, and not wishing to arouse
suspicion by further hesitation, he turned to the left and stepped
briskly along the pavement with the intention of placing himself as
quickly as possible beyond the observation of those nocturnal watchers.
He knew that the night must be far spent; and so he could not but
wonder why people should sit upon their balconies when they should have
been asleep among their silks and furs. At first he had thought them
the late guests of some convivial host; but the windows behind them
were shrouded in darkness and utter quiet prevailed, quite upsetting
such a theory. And as he proceeded he passed many another group sitting
silently upon other balconies. They paid no attention to him, seeming
not even to note his passing. Some leaned with a single elbow upon the
rail, their chins resting in their palms; others leaned upon both arms
across the balcony, looking down into the street, while several that he
saw held musical instruments in their hands, but their fingers moved
not upon the strings.

And then Turan came to a point where the avenue turned to the right, to
skirt a building that jutted from the inside of the city wall, and as
he rounded the corner he came full upon two warriors standing upon
either side of the entrance to a building upon his right. It was
impossible for them not to be aware of his presence, yet neither moved,
nor gave other evidence that they had seen him. He stood there waiting,
his hand upon the hilt of his long-sword, but they neither challenged
nor halted him. Could it be that these also thought him one of their
own kind? Indeed upon no other grounds could he explain their inaction.

As Turan had passed through the gateway into the city and taken his
unhindered way along the avenue, twenty warriors had entered the city
and closed the gate behind them, and then one had taken to the wall and
followed along its summit in the rear of Turan, and another had
followed him along the avenue, while a third had crossed the street and
entered one of the buildings upon the opposite side.

The balance of them, with the exception of a single sentinel beside the
gate, had re-entered the building from which they had been summoned.
They were well built, strapping, painted fellows, their naked figures
covered now by gorgeous robes against the chill of night. As they spoke
of the stranger they laughed at the ease with which they had tricked
him, and were still laughing as they threw themselves upon their
sleeping silks and furs to resume their broken slumber. It was evident
that they constituted a guard detailed for the gate beside which they
slept, and it was equally evident that the gates were guarded and the
city watched much more carefully than Turan had believed. Chagrined
indeed had been the Jed of Gathol had he dreamed that he was being so
neatly tricked.

As Turan proceeded along the avenue he passed other sentries beside
other doors but now he gave them small heed, since they neither
challenged nor otherwise outwardly noted his passing; but while at
nearly every turn of the erratic avenue he passed one or more of these
silent sentinels he could not guess that he had passed one of them many
times and that his every move was watched by silent, clever stalkers.
Scarce had he passed a certain one of these rigid guardsmen before the
fellow awoke to sudden life, bounded across the avenue, entered a
narrow opening in the outer wall where he swiftly followed a corridor
built within the wall itself until presently he emerged a little
distance ahead of Turan, where he assumed the stiff and silent attitude
of a soldier upon guard. Nor did Turan know that a second followed in
the shadows of the buildings behind him, nor of the third who hastened
ahead of him upon some urgent mission.

And so the panthan moved through the silent streets of the strange city
in search of food and drink for the woman he loved. Men and women
looked down upon him from shadowy balconies, but spoke not; and
sentinels saw him pass and did not challenge. Presently from along the
avenue before him came the familiar sound of clanking accouterments,
the herald of marching warriors, and almost simultaneously he saw upon
his right an open doorway dimly lighted from within. It was the only
available place where he might seek to hide from the approaching
company, and while he had passed several sentries unquestioned he could
scarce hope to escape scrutiny and questioning from a patrol, as he
naturally assumed this body of men to be.

Inside the doorway he discovered a passage turning abruptly to the
right and almost immediately thereafter to the left. There was none in
sight within and so he stepped cautiously around the second turn the
more effectually to be hidden from the street. Before him stretched a
long corridor, dimly lighted like the entrance. Waiting there he heard
the party approach the building, he heard someone at the entrance to
his hiding place, and then he heard the door past which he had come
slam to. He laid his hand upon his sword, expecting momentarily to hear
footsteps approaching along the corridor; but none came. He approached
the turn and looked around it; the corridor was empty to the closed
door. Whoever had closed it had remained upon the outside.

Turan waited, listening. He heard no sound. Then he advanced to the
door and placed an ear against it. All was silence in the street
beyond. A sudden draft must have closed the door, or perhaps it was the
duty of the patrol to see to such things. It was immaterial. They had
evidently passed on and now he would return to the street and continue
upon his way. Somewhere there would be a public fountain where he could
obtain water, and the chance of food lay in the strings of dried
vegetables and meat which hung before the doorways of nearly every
Barsoomian home of the poorer classes that he had ever seen. It was
this district he was seeking, and it was for this reason his search had
led him away from the main gate of the city which he knew would not be
located in a poor district.

He attempted to open the door only to find that it resisted his every
effort—it was locked upon the outside. Here indeed was a sorry
contretemps. Turan the panthan scratched his head. "Fortune frowns upon
me," he murmured; but beyond the door, Fate, in the form of a painted
warrior, stood smiling. Neatly had he tricked the unwary stranger. The
lighted doorway, the marching patrol—these had been planned and timed
to a nicety by the third warrior who had sped ahead of Turan along
another avenue, and the stranger had done precisely what the fellow had
thought he would do—no wonder, then, that he smiled.

This exit barred to him Turan turned back into the corridor. He
followed it cautiously and silently. Occasionally there was a door on
one side or the other. These he tried only to find each securely
locked. The corridor wound more erratically the farther he advanced. A
locked door barred his way at its end, but a door upon his right opened
and he stepped into a dimly-lighted chamber, about the walls of which
were three other doors, each of which he tried in turn. Two were
locked; the other opened upon a runway leading downward. It was spiral
and he could see no farther than the first turn. A door in the corridor
he had quitted opened after he had passed, and the third warrior
stepped out and followed after him. A faint smile still lingered upon
the fellow's grim lips.

Turan drew his short-sword and cautiously descended. At the bottom was
a short corridor with a closed door at the end. He approached the
single heavy panel and listened. No sound came to him from beyond the
mysterious portal. Gently he tried the door, which swung easily toward
him at his touch. Before him was a low-ceiled chamber with a dirt
floor. Set in its walls were several other doors and all were closed.
As Turan stepped cautiously within, the third warrior descended the
spiral runway behind him. The panthan crossed the room quickly and
tried a door. It was locked. He heard a muffled click behind him and
turned about with ready sword. He was alone; but the door through which
he had entered was closed—it was the click of its lock that he had
heard.

With a bound he crossed the room and attempted to open it; but to no
avail. No longer did he seek silence, for he knew now that the thing
had gone beyond the sphere of chance. He threw his weight against the
wooden panel; but the thick skeel of which it was constructed would
have withstood a battering ram. From beyond came a low laugh.

Rapidly Turan examined each of the other doors. They were all locked. A
glance about the chamber revealed a wooden table and a bench. Set in
the walls were several heavy rings to which rusty chains were
attached—all too significant of the purpose to which the room was
dedicated. In the dirt floor near the wall were two or three holes
resembling the mouths of burrows—doubtless the habitat of the giant
Martian rat. He had observed this much when suddenly the dim light was
extinguished, leaving him in darkness utter and complete. Turan,
groping about, sought the table and the bench. Placing the latter
against the wall he drew the table in front of him and sat down upon
the bench, his long-sword gripped in readiness before him. At least
they should fight before they took him.

For some time he sat there waiting for he knew not what. No sound
penetrated to his subterranean dungeon. He slowly revolved in his mind
the incidents of the evening—the open, unguarded gate; the lighted
doorway—the only one he had seen thus open and lighted along the
avenue he had followed; the advance of the warriors at precisely the
moment that he could find no other avenue of escape or concealment; the
corridors and chambers that led past many locked doors to this
underground prison leaving no other path for him to pursue.

"By my first ancestor!" he swore; "but it was simple and I a simpleton.
They tricked me neatly and have taken me without exposing themselves to
a scratch; but for what purpose?"

He wished that he might answer that question and then his thoughts
turned to the girl waiting there on the hill beyond the city for
him—and he would never come. He knew the ways of the more savage
peoples of Barsoom. No, he would never come, now. He had disobeyed her.
He smiled at the sweet recollection of those words of command that had
fallen from her dear lips. He had disobeyed her and now he had lost the
reward.

But what of her? What now would be her fate—starving before a hostile
city with only an inhuman kaldane for company? Another thought—a
horrid thought—obtruded itself upon him. She had told him of the
hideous sights she had witnessed in the burrows of the kaldanes and he
knew that they ate human flesh. Ghek was starving. Should he eat his
rykor he would be helpless; but—there was sustenance there for them
both, for the rykor and the kaldane. Turan cursed himself for a fool.
Why had he left her? Far better to have remained and died with her,
ready always to protect her, than to have left her at the mercy of the
hideous Bantoomian.

Now Turan detected a heavy odor in the air. It oppressed him with a
feeling of drowsiness. He would have risen to fight off the creeping
lethargy, but his legs seemed weak, so that he sank again to the bench.
Presently his sword slipped from his fingers and he sprawled forward
upon the table his head resting upon his arms.

Tara of Helium, as the night wore on and Turan did not return, became
more and more uneasy, and when dawn broke with no sign of him she
guessed that he had failed. Something more than her own unhappy
predicament brought a feeling of sorrow to her heart—of sorrow and
loneliness. She realized now how she had come to depend upon this
panthan not only for protection but for companionship as well. She
missed him, and in missing him realized suddenly that he had meant more
to her than a mere hired warrior. It was as though a friend had been
taken from her—an old and valued friend. She rose from her place of
concealment that she might have a better view of the city.

U-Dor, dwar of the 8th Utan of O-Tar, Jeddak of Manator, rode back in
the early dawn toward Manator from a brief excursion to a neighboring
village. As he was rounding the hills south of the city, his keen eyes
were attracted by a slight movement among the shrubbery close to the
summit of the nearest hill. He halted his vicious mount and watched
more closely. He saw a figure rise facing away from him and peer down
toward Manator beyond the hill.

"Come!" he signalled to his followers, and with a word to his thoat
turned the beast at a rapid gallop up the hillside. In his wake swept
his twenty savage warriors, the padded feet of their mounts soundless
upon the soft turf. It was the rattle of sidearms and harness that
brought Tara of Helium suddenly about, facing them. She saw a score of
warriors with couched lances bearing down upon her.

She glanced at Ghek. What would the spiderman do in this emergency? She
saw him crawl to his rykor and attach himself. Then he arose, the
beautiful body once again animated and alert. She thought that the
creature was preparing for flight. Well, it made little difference to
her. Against such as were streaming up the hill toward them a single
mediocre swordsman such as Ghek was worse than no defense at all.

"Hurry, Ghek!" she admonished him. "Back into the hills! You may find
there a hiding-place;" but the creature only stepped between her and
the oncoming riders, drawing his long-sword.

"It is useless, Ghek," she said, when she saw that he intended to
defend her. "What can a single sword accomplish against such odds?"

"I can die but once," replied the kaldane. "You and your panthan saved
me from Luud and I but do what your panthan would do were he here to
protect you."

"It is brave, but it is useless," she replied. "Sheathe your sword.
They may not intend us harm."

Ghek let the point of his weapon drop to the ground, but he did not
sheathe it, and thus the two stood waiting as U-Dor the dwar stopped
his thoat before them while his twenty warriors formed a rough circle
about. For a long minute U-Dor sat his mount in silence, looking
searchingly first at Tara of Helium and then at her hideous companion.

"What manner of creature are you?" he asked presently. "And what do you
before the gates of Manator?"

"We are from far countries," replied the girl, "and we are lost and
starving. We ask only food and rest and the privilege to go our way
seeking our own homes."

U-Dor smiled a grim smile. "Manator and the hills which guard it alone
know the age of Manator," he said; "yet in all the ages that have
rolled by since Manator first was, there be no record in the annals of
Manator of a stranger departing from Manator."

"But I am a princess," cried the girl haughtily, "and my country is not
at war with yours. You must give me and my companions aid and assist us
to return to our own land. It is the law of Barsoom."

"Manator knows only the laws of Manator," replied U-Dor; "but come. You
shall go with us to the city, where you, being beautiful, need have no
fear. I, myself, will protect you if O-Tar so decrees. And as for your
companion—but hold! You said 'companions'—there are others of your
party then?"

"You see what you see," replied Tara haughtily.

"Be that as it may," said U-Dor. "If there be more they shall not
escape Manator; but as I was saying, if your companion fights well he
too may live, for O-Tar is just, and just are the laws of Manator.
Come!"

Ghek demurred.

"It is useless," said the girl, seeing that he would have stood his
ground and fought them. "Let us go with them. Why pit your puny blade
against their mighty ones when there should lie in your great brain the
means to outwit them?" She spoke in a low whisper, rapidly.

"You are right, Tara of Helium," he replied and sheathed his sword.

And so they moved down the hillside toward the gates of Manator—Tara,
Princess of Helium, and Ghek, the kaldane of Bantoom—and surrounding
them rode the savage, painted warriors of U-Dor, dwar of the 8th Utan
of O-Tar, Jeddak of Manator.

CHAPTER XI

THE CHOICE OF TARA

The dazzling sunlight of Barsoom clothed Manator in an aureole of
splendor as the girl and her captors rode into the city through The
Gate of Enemies. Here the wall was some fifty feet thick, and the sides
of the passageway within the gate were covered with parallel shelves of
masonry from bottom to top. Within these shelves, or long, horizontal
niches, stood row upon row of small figures, appearing like tiny,
grotesque statuettes of men, their long, black hair falling below their
feet and sometimes trailing to the shelf beneath. The figures were
scarce a foot in height and but for their diminutive proportions might
have been the mummified bodies of once living men. The girl noticed
that as they passed, the warriors saluted the figures with their spears
after the manner of Barsoomian fighting men in extending a military
courtesy, and then they rode on into the avenue beyond, which ran, wide
and stately, through the city toward the east.

On either side were great buildings wondrously wrought. Paintings of
great beauty and antiquity covered many of the walls, their colors
softened and blended by the suns of ages. Upon the pavement the life of
the newly-awakened city was already afoot. Women in brilliant
trappings, befeathered warriors, their bodies daubed with paint;
artisans, armed but less gaily caparisoned, took their various ways
upon the duties of the day. A giant zitidar, magnificent in rich
harness, rumbled its broad-wheeled cart along the stone pavement toward
The Gate of Enemies. Life and color and beauty wrought together a
picture that filled the eyes of Tara of Helium with wonder and with
admiration, for here was a scene out of the dead past of dying Mars.
Such had been the cities of the founders of her race before Throxeus,
mightiest of oceans, had disappeared from the face of a world. And from
balconies on either side men and women looked down in silence upon the
scene below.

The people in the street looked at the two prisoners, especially at the
hideous Ghek, and called out in question or comment to their guard; but
the watchers upon the balconies spoke not, nor did one so much as turn
a head to note their passing. There were many balconies on each
building and not a one that did not hold its silent party of richly
trapped men and women, with here and there a child or two, but even the
children maintained the uniform silence and immobility of their elders.
As they approached the center of the city the girl saw that even the
roofs bore companies of these idle watchers, harnessed and bejeweled as
for some gala-day of laughter and music, but no laughter broke from
those silent lips, nor any music from the strings of the instruments
that many of them held in jeweled fingers.

And now the avenue widened into an immense square, at the far end of
which rose a stately edifice gleaming white in virgin marble among the
gaily painted buildings surrounding it and its scarlet sward and
gaily-flowering, green-foliaged shrubbery. Toward this U-Dor led his
prisoners and their guard to the great arched entrance before which a
line of fifty mounted warriors barred the way. When the commander of
the guard recognized U-Dor the guardsmen fell back to either side
leaving a broad avenue through which the party passed. Directly inside
the entrance were inclined runways leading upward on either side. U-Dor
turned to the left and led them upward to the second floor and down a
long corridor. Here they passed other mounted men and in chambers upon
either side they saw more. Occasionally there was another runway
leading either up or down. A warrior, his steed at full gallop, dashed
into sight from one of these and raced swiftly past them upon some
errand.

Nowhere as yet had Tara of Helium seen a man afoot in this great
building; but when at a turn, U-Dor led them to the third floor she
caught glimpses of chambers in which many riderless thoats were penned
and others adjoining where dismounted warriors lolled at ease or played
games of skill or chance and many there were who played at jetan, and
then the party passed into a long, wide hall of state, as magnificent
an apartment as even a princess of mighty Helium ever had seen. The
length of the room ran an arched ceiling ablaze with countless radium
bulbs. The mighty spans extended from wall to wall leaving the vast
floor unbroken by a single column. The arches were of white marble,
apparently quarried in single, huge blocks from which each arch was cut
complete. Between the arches, the ceiling was set solid about the
radium bulbs with precious stones whose scintillant fire and color and
beauty filled the whole apartment. The stones were carried down the
walls in an irregular fringe for a few feet, where they appeared to
hang like a beautiful and gorgeous drapery against the white marble of
the wall. The marble ended some six or seven feet from the floor, the
walls from that point down being wainscoted in solid gold. The floor
itself was of marble richly inlaid with gold. In that single room was a
vast treasure equal to the wealth of many a large city.

But what riveted the girl's attention even more than the fabulous
treasure of decorations were the files of gorgeously harnessed warriors
who sat their thoats in grim silence and immobility on either side of
the central aisle, rank after rank of them to the farther walls, and as
the party passed between them she could not note so much as the flicker
of an eyelid, or the twitching of a thoat's ear.

"The Hall of Chiefs," whispered one of her guard, evidently noting her
interest. There was a note of pride in the fellow's voice and something
of hushed awe. Then they passed through a great doorway into the
chamber beyond, a large, square room in which a dozen mounted warriors
lolled in their saddles.

As U-Dor and his party entered the room, the warriors came quickly
erect in their saddles and formed a line before another door upon the
opposite side of the wall. The padwar commanding them saluted U-Dor
who, with his party, had halted facing the guard.

"Send one to O-Tar announcing that U-Dor brings two prisoners worthy of
the observation of the great jeddak," said U-Dor; "one because of her
extreme beauty, the other because of his extreme ugliness."

"O-Tar sits in council with the lesser chiefs," replied the lieutenant;
"but the words of U-Dor the dwar shall be carried to him," and he
turned and gave instructions to one who sat his thoat behind him.

"What manner of creature is the male?" he asked of U-Dor. "It cannot be
that both are of one race."

"They were together in the hills south of the city," explained U-Dor,
"and they say that they are lost and starving."

"The woman is beautiful," said the padwar. "She will not long go
begging in the city of Manator," and then they spoke of other
matters—of the doings of the palace, of the expedition of U-Dor, until
the messenger returned to say that O-Tar bade them bring the prisoners
to him.

They passed then through a massive doorway, which, when opened,
revealed the great council chamber of O-Tar, Jeddak of Manator, beyond.
A central aisle led from the doorway the full length of the great hall,
terminating at the steps of a marble dais upon which a man sat in a
great throne-chair. Upon either side of the aisle were ranged rows of
highly carved desks and chairs of skeel, a hard wood of great beauty.
Only a few of the desks were occupied—those in the front row, just
below the rostrum.

At the entrance U-Dor dismounted with four of his followers who formed
a guard about the two prisoners who were then conducted toward the foot
of the throne, following a few paces behind U-Dor. As they halted at
the foot of the marble steps, the proud gaze of Tara of Helium rested
upon the enthroned figure of the man above her. He sat erect without
stiffness—a commanding presence trapped in the barbaric splendor that
the Barsoomian chieftain loves. He was a large man, the perfection of
whose handsome face was marred only by the hauteur of his cold eyes and
the suggestion of cruelty imparted by too thin lips. It needed no
second glance to assure the least observing that here indeed was a
ruler of men—a fighting jeddak whose people might worship but not
love, and for whose slightest favor warriors would vie with one another
to go forth and die. This was O-Tar, Jeddak of Manator, and as Tara of
Helium saw him for the first time she could not but acknowledge a
certain admiration for this savage chieftain who so virilely
personified the ancient virtues of the God of War.

U-Dor and the jeddak interchanged the simple greetings of Barsoom, and
then the former recounted the details of the discovery and capture of
the prisoners. O-Tar scrutinized them both intently during U-Dor's
narration of events, his expression revealing naught of what passed in
the brain behind those inscrutable eyes. When the officer had finished
the jeddak fastened his gaze upon Ghek.

"And you," he asked, "what manner of thing are you? From what country?
Why are you in Manator?"

"I am a kaldane," replied Ghek; "the highest type of created creature
upon the face of Barsoom; I am mind, you are matter. I come from
Bantoom. I am here because we were lost and starving."

"And you!" O-Tar turned suddenly on Tara. "You, too, are a kaldane?"

"I am a princess of Helium," replied the girl. "I was a prisoner in
Bantoom. This kaldane and a warrior of my own race rescued me. The
warrior left us to search for food and water. He has doubtless fallen
into the hands of your people. I ask you to free him and give us food
and drink and let us go upon our way. I am a granddaughter of a jeddak,
the daughter of a jeddak of jeddaks, The Warlord of Barsoom. I ask only
the treatment that my people would accord you or yours."

"Helium," repeated O-Tar. "I know naught of Helium, nor does the Jeddak
of Helium rule Manator. I, O-Tar, am Jeddak of Manator. I alone rule. I
protect my own. You have never seen a woman or a warrior of Manator
captive in Helium! Why should I protect the people of another jeddak?
It is his duty to protect them. If he cannot, he is weak, and his
people must fall into the hands of the strong. I, O-Tar, am strong. I
will keep you. That—" he pointed at Ghek—"can it fight?"

"It is brave," replied Tara of Helium, "but it has not the skill at
arms which my people possess."

"There is none then to fight for you?" asked O-Tar. "We are a just
people," he continued without waiting for a reply, "and had you one to
fight for you he might win to freedom for himself and you as well."

"But U-Dor assured me that no stranger ever had departed from Manator,"
she answered.

O-Tar shrugged. "That does not disprove the justice of the laws of
Manator," replied O-Tar, "but rather that the warriors of Manator are
invincible. Had there come one who could defeat our warriors that one
had won to liberty."

"And you fetch my warrior," cried Tara haughtily, "you shall see such
swordplay as doubtless the crumbling walls of your decaying city never
have witnessed, and if there be no trick in your offer we are already
as good as free."

O-Tar smiled more broadly than before and U-Dor smiled, too, and the
chiefs and warriors who looked on nudged one another and whispered,
laughing. And Tara of Helium knew then that there was trickery in their
justice; but though her situation seemed hopeless she did not cease to
hope, for was she not the daughter of John Carter, Warlord of Barsoom,
whose famous challenge to Fate, "I still live!" remained the one
irreducible defense against despair? At thought of her noble sire the
patrician chin of Tara of Helium rose a shade higher. Ah! if he but
knew where she was there were little to fear then. The hosts of Helium
would batter at the gates of Manator, the great green warriors of John
Carter's savage allies would swarm up from the dead sea bottoms lusting
for pillage and for loot, the stately ships of her beloved navy would
soar above the unprotected towers and minarets of the doomed city which
only capitulation and heavy tribute could then save.

But John Carter did not know! There was only one other to whom she
might hope to look—Turan the panthan; but where was he? She had seen
his sword in play and she knew that it had been wielded by a master
hand, and who should know swordplay better than Tara of Helium, who had
learned it well under the constant tutorage of John Carter himself.
Tricks she knew that discounted even far greater physical prowess than
her own, and a method of attack that might have been at once the envy
and despair of the cleverest of warriors. And so it was that her
thoughts turned to Turan the panthan, though not alone because of the
protection he might afford her. She had realized, since he had left her
in search of food, that there had grown between them a certain
comradeship that she now missed. There had been that about him which
seemed to have bridged the gulf between their stations in life. With
him she had failed to consider that he was a panthan or that she was a
princess—they had been comrades. Suddenly she realized that she missed
him for himself more than for his sword. She turned toward O-Tar.

"Where is Turan, my warrior?" she demanded.

"You shall not lack for warriors," replied the jeddak. "One of your
beauty will find plenty ready to fight for her. Possibly it shall not
be necessary to look farther than the jeddak of Manator. You please me,
woman. What say you to such an honor?"

Through narrowed lids the Princess of Helium scrutinized the Jeddak of
Manator, from feathered headdress to sandaled foot and back to
feathered headdress.

"'Honor'!" she mimicked in tones of scorn. "I please thee, do I? Then
know, swine, that thou pleaseth me not—that the daughter of John
Carter is not for such as thou!"

A sudden, tense silence fell upon the assembled chiefs. Slowly the
blood receded from the sinister face of O-Tar, Jeddak of Manator,
leaving him a sickly purple in his wrath. His eyes narrowed to two thin
slits, his lips were compressed to a bloodless line of malevolence. For
a long moment there was no sound in the throne room of the palace at
Manator. Then the jeddak turned toward U-Dor.

"Take her away," he said in a level voice that belied his appearance of
rage. "Take her away, and at the next games let the prisoners and the
common warriors play at Jetan for her."

"And this?" asked U-Dor, pointing at Ghek.

"To the pits until the next games," replied O-Tar.

"So this is your vaunted justice!" cried Tara of Helium; "that two
strangers who have not wronged you shall be sentenced without trial?
And one of them is a woman. The swine of Manator are as just as they
are brave."

"Away with her!" shouted O-Tar, and at a sign from U-Dor the guards
formed about the two prisoners and conducted them from the chamber.

Outside the palace, Ghek and Tara of Helium were separated. The girl
was led through long avenues toward the center of the city and finally
into a low building, topped by lofty towers of massive construction.
Here she was turned over to a warrior who wore the insignia of a dwar,
or captain.

"It is O-Tar's wish," explained U-Dor to this one, "that she be kept
until the next games, when the prisoners and the common warriors shall
play for her. Had she not the tongue of a thoat she had been a worthy
stake for our noblest steel," and U-Dor sighed. "Perhaps even yet I may
win a pardon for her. It were too bad to see such beauty fall to the
lot of some common fellow. I would have honored her myself."

"If I am to be imprisoned, imprison me," said the girl. "I do not
recall that I was sentenced to listen to the insults of every low-born
boor who chanced to admire me."

"You see, A-Kor," cried U-Dor, "the tongue that she has. Even so and
worse spoke she to O-Tar the jeddak."

"I see," replied A-Kor, whom Tara saw was with difficulty restraining a
smile. "Come, then, with me, woman," he said, "and we shall find a safe
place within The Towers of Jetan—but stay! what ails thee?"

The girl had staggered and would have fallen had not the man caught her
in his arms. She seemed to gather herself then and bravely sought to
stand erect without support. A-Kor glanced at U-Dor. "Knew you the
woman was ill?" he asked.

"Possibly it is lack of food," replied the other. "She mentioned, I
believe, that she and her companions had not eaten for several days."

"Brave are the warriors of O-Tar," sneered A-Kor; "lavish their
hospitality. U-Dor, whose riches are uncounted, and the brave O-Tar,
whose squealing thoats are stabled within marble halls and fed from
troughs of gold, can spare no crust to feed a starving girl."

The black haired U-Dor scowled. "Thy tongue will yet pierce thy heart,
son of a slave!" he cried. "Once too often mayst thou try the patience
of the just O-Tar. Hereafter guard thy speech as well as thy towers."

"Think not to taunt me with my mother's state," said A-Kor. "'Tis the
blood of the slave woman that fills my veins with pride, and my only
shame is that I am also the son of thy jeddak."

"And O-Tar heard this?" queried U-Dor.

"O-Tar has already heard it from my own lips," replied A-Kor; "this,
and more."

He turned upon his heel, a supporting arm still around the waist of
Tara of Helium and thus he half led, half carried her into The Towers
of Jetan, while U-Dor wheeled his thoat and galloped back in the
direction of the palace.

Within the main entrance to The Tower of Jetan lolled a half-dozen
warriors. To one of these spoke A-Kor, keeper of the towers. "Fetch
Lan-O, the slave girl, and bid her bring food and drink to the upper
level of the Thurian tower," then he lifted the half-fainting girl in
his arms and bore her along the spiral, inclined runway that led upward
within the tower.

Somewhere in the long ascent Tara lost consciousness. When it returned
she found herself in a large, circular chamber, the stone walls of
which were pierced by windows at regular intervals about the entire
circumference of the room. She was lying upon a pile of sleeping silks
and furs while there knelt above her a young woman who was forcing
drops of some cooling beverage between her parched lips. Tara of Helium
half rose upon an elbow and looked about. In the first moments of
returning consciousness there were swept from the screen of
recollection the happenings of many weeks. She thought that she awoke
in the palace of The Warlord at Helium. Her brows knit as she
scrutinized the strange face bending over her.

"Who are you?" she asked, and, "Where is Uthia?"

"I am Lan-O the slave girl," replied the other. "I know none by the
name of Uthia."

Tara of Helium sat erect and looked about her. This rough stone was not
the marble of her father's halls. "Where am I?" she asked.

"In The Thurian Tower," replied the girl, and then seeing that the
other still did not understand she guessed the truth. "You are a
prisoner in The Towers of Jetan in the city of Manator," she explained.
"You were brought to this chamber, weak and fainting, by A-Kor, Dwar of
The Towers of Jetan, who sent me to you with food and drink, for kind
is the heart of A-Kor."

"I remember, now," said Tara, slowly. "I remember; but where is Turan,
my warrior? Did they speak of him?"

"I heard naught of another," replied Lan-O; "you alone were brought to
the towers. In that you are fortunate, for there be no nobler man in
Manator than A-Kor. It is his mother's blood that makes him so. She was
a slave girl from Gathol."

"But you are not from Gathol," said the slave girl; "your harness is
not of Gathol."

"I am from Helium," said Tara.

"It is far from Helium to Gathol," said the slave girl, "but in our
studies we learned much of the greatness of Helium, we of Gathol, so it
seems not so far away."

"You, too, are from Gathol?" asked Tara.

"Many of us are from Gathol who are slaves in Manator," replied the
girl. "It is to Gathol, nearest country, that the Manatorians look for
slaves most often. They go in great numbers at intervals of three or
seven years and haunt the roads that lead to Gathol, and thus they
capture whole caravans leaving none to bear warning to Gathol of their
fate. Nor do any ever escape from Manator to carry word of us back to
Gahan our jed."

Tara of Helium ate slowly and in silence. The girl's words aroused
memories of the last hours she had spent in her father's palace and the
great midday function at which she had met Gahan of Gathol. Even now
she flushed as she recalled his daring words.

Upon her reveries the door opened and a burly warrior appeared in the
opening—a hulking fellow, with thick lips and an evil, leering face.
The slave girl sprang to her feet, facing him.

"What does this mean, E-Med?" she cried, "was it not the will of A-Kor
that this woman be not disturbed?"

"The will of A-Kor, indeed!" and the man sneered. "The will of A-Kor is
without power in The Towers of Jetan, or elsewhere, for A-Kor lies now
in the pits of O-Tar, and E-Med is dwar of the Towers."

Tara of Helium saw the face of the slave girl pale and the terror in
her eyes.

CHAPTER XII

GHEK PLAYS PRANKS

While Tara of Helium was being led to The Towers of Jetan, Ghek was
escorted to the pits beneath the palace where he was imprisoned in a
dimly-lighted chamber. Here he found a bench and a table standing upon
the dirt floor near the wall, and set in the wall several rings from
which depended short lengths of chain. At the base of the walls were
several holes in the dirt floor. These, alone, of the several things he
saw, interested him. Ghek sat down upon the bench and waited in
silence, listening. Presently the lights were extinguished. If Ghek
could have smiled he would have then, for Ghek could see as well in the
dark as in the light—better, perhaps. He watched the dark openings of
the holes in the floor and waited. Presently he detected a change in
the air about him—it grew heavy with a strange odor, and once again
might Ghek have smiled, could he have smiled.

Let them replace all the air in the chamber with their most deadly
fumes; it would be all the same to Ghek, the kaldane, who, having no
lungs, required no air. With the rykor it might be different. Deprived
of air it would die; but if only a sufficient amount of the gas was
introduced to stupefy an ordinary creature it would have no effect upon
the rykor, who had no objective mind to overcome. So long as the excess
of carbon dioxide in the blood was not sufficient to prevent heart
action, the rykor would suffer only a diminution of vitality; but would
still respond to the exciting agency of the kaldane's brain.

Ghek caused the rykor to assume a sitting position with its back
against the wall where it might remain without direction from his
brain. Then he released his contact with its spinal cord; but remained
in position upon its shoulders, waiting and watching, for the kaldane's
curiosity was aroused. He had not long to wait before the lights were
flashed on and one of the locked doors opened to admit a half-dozen
warriors. They approached him rapidly and worked quickly. First they
removed all his weapons and then, snapping a fetter about one of the
rykor's ankles, secured him to the end of one of the chains hanging
from the walls. Next they dragged the long table to a new position and
there bolted it to the floor so that an end, instead of the middle, was
directly before the prisoner. On the table before him they set food and
water and upon the opposite end of the table they laid the key to the
fetter. Then they unlocked and opened all the doors and departed.

When Turan the panthan regained consciousness it was to the realization
of a sharp pain in one of his forearms. The effects of the gas departed
as rapidly as they had overcome him so that as he opened his eyes he
was in full possession of all his faculties. The lights were on again
and in their glow there was revealed to the man the figure of a giant
Martian rat crouching upon the table and gnawing upon his arm.
Snatching his arm away he reached for his short-sword, while the rat,
growling, sought to seize his arm again. It was then that Turan
discovered that his weapons had been removed—short-sword, long-sword,
dagger, and pistol. The rat charged him then and striking the creature
away with his hand the man rose and backed off, searching for something
with which to strike a harder blow. Again the rat charged and as Turan
stepped quickly back to avoid the menacing jaws, something seemed to
jerk suddenly upon his right ankle, and as he drew his left foot back
to regain his equilibrium his heel caught upon a taut chain and he fell
heavily backward to the floor just as the rat leaped upon his breast
and sought his throat.

The Martian rat is a fierce and unlovely thing. It is many-legged and
hairless, its hide resembling that of a newborn mouse in repulsiveness.
In size and weight it is comparable to a large Airedale terrier. Its
eyes are small and close-set, and almost hidden in deep, fleshy
apertures. But its most ferocious and repulsive feature is its jaws,
the entire bony structure of which protrudes several inches beyond the
flesh, revealing five sharp, spadelike teeth in the upper jaw and the
same number of similar teeth in the lower, the whole suggesting the
appearance of a rotting face from which much of the flesh has sloughed
away.

It was such a thing that leaped upon the breast of the panthan to tear
at his jugular. Twice Turan struck it away as he sought to regain his
feet, but both times it returned with increased ferocity to renew the
attack. Its only weapons are its jaws since its broad, splay feet are
armed with blunt talons. With its protruding jaws it excavates its
winding burrows and with its broad feet it pushes the dirt behind it.
To keep the jaws from his flesh then was Turan's only concern and this
he succeeded in doing until chance gave him a hold upon the creature's
throat. After that the end was but a matter of moments. Rising at last
he flung the lifeless thing from him with a shudder of disgust.

Now he turned his attention to a hurried inventory of the new
conditions which surrounded him since the moment of his incarceration.
He realized vaguely what had happened. He had been anaesthetized and
stripped of his weapons, and as he rose to his feet he saw that one
ankle was fettered to a chain in the wall. He looked about the room.
All the doors swung wide open! His captors would render his
imprisonment the more cruel by leaving ever before him tempting
glimpses of open aisles to the freedom he could not attain. Upon the
end of the table and within easy reach was food and drink. This at
least was attainable and at sight of it his starved stomach seemed
almost to cry aloud for sustenance. It was with difficulty that he ate
and drank in moderation.

As he devoured the food his eyes wandered about the confines of his
prison until suddenly they seized upon a thing that lay on the table at
the end farthest from him. It was a key. He raised his fettered ankle
and examined the lock. There could be no doubt of it! The key that lay
there on the table before him was the key to that very lock. A careless
warrior had laid it there and departed, forgetting.

Hope surged high in the breast of Gahan of Gathol, of Turan the
panthan. Furtively his eyes sought the open doorways. There was no one
in sight. Ah, if he could but gain his freedom! He would find some way
from this odious city back to her side and never again would he leave
her until he had won safety for her or death for himself.

He rose and moved cautiously toward the opposite end of the table where
lay the coveted key. The fettered ankle halted his first step, but he
stretched at full length along the table, extending eager fingers
toward the prize. They almost laid hold upon it—a little more and they
would touch it. He strained and stretched, but still the thing lay just
beyond his reach. He hurled himself forward until the iron fetter bit
deep into his flesh, but all futilely. He sat back upon the bench then
and glared at the open doors and the key, realizing now that they were
part of a well-laid scheme of refined torture, none the less
demoralizing because it inflicted no physical suffering.

For just a moment the man gave way to useless regret and foreboding,
then he gathered himself together, his brows cleared, and he returned
to his unfinished meal. At least they should not have the satisfaction
of knowing how sorely they had hit him. As he ate it occurred to him
that by dragging the table along the floor he could bring the key
within his reach, but when he essayed to do so, he found that the table
had been securely bolted to the floor during the period of his
unconsciousness. Again Gahan smiled and shrugged and resumed his eating.

When the warriors had departed from the prison in which Ghek was
confined, the kaldane crawled from the shoulders of the rykor to the
table. Here he drank a little water and then directed the hands of the
rykor to the balance of it and to the food, upon which the brainless
thing fell with avidity. While it was thus engaged Ghek took his
spider-like way along the table to the opposite end where lay the key
to the fetter. Seizing it in a chela he leaped to the floor and
scurried rapidly toward the mouth of one of the burrows against the
wall, into which he disappeared. For long had the brain been
contemplating these burrow entrances. They appealed to his kaldanean
tastes, and further, they pointed a hiding place for the key and a lair
for the only kind of food that the kaldane relished—flesh and blood.

Ghek had never seen an ulsio, since these great Martian rats had long
ago disappeared from Bantoom, their flesh and blood having been greatly
relished by the kaldanes; but Ghek had inherited, almost unimpaired,
every memory of every ancestor, and so he knew that ulsio inhabited
these lairs and that ulsio was good to eat, and he knew what ulsio
looked like and what his habits were, though he had never seen him nor
any picture of him. As we breed animals for the transmission of
physical attributes, so the Kaldanes breed themselves for the
transmission of attributes of the mind, including memory and the power
of recollection, and thus have they raised what we term instinct, above
the level of the threshold of the objective mind where it may be
commanded and utilized by recollection. Doubtless in our own subjective
minds lie many of the impressions and experiences of our forebears.
These may impinge upon our consciousness in dreams only, or in vague,
haunting suggestions that we have before experienced some transient
phase of our present existence. Ah, if we had but the power to recall
them! Before us would unfold the forgotten story of the lost eons that
have preceded us. We might even walk with God in the garden of His
stars while man was still but a budding idea within His mind.

Ghek descended into the burrow at a steep incline for some ten feet,
when he found himself in an elaborate and delightful network of
burrows! The kaldane was elated. This indeed was life! He moved rapidly
and fearlessly and he went as straight to his goal as you could to the
kitchen of your own home. This goal lay at a low level in a spheroidal
cavity about the size of a large barrel. Here, in a nest of torn bits
of silk and fur lay six baby ulsios.

When the mother returned there were but five babies and a great
spider-like creature, which she immediately sprang to attack only to be
met by powerful chelae which seized and held her so that she could not
move. Slowly they dragged her throat toward a hideous mouth and in a
little moment she was dead.

Ghek might have remained in the nest for a long time, since there was
ample food for many days; but he did not do so. Instead he explored the
burrows. He followed them into many subterranean chambers of the city
of Manator, and upward through walls to rooms above the ground. He
found many ingeniously devised traps, and he found poisoned food and
other signs of the constant battle that the inhabitants of Manator
waged against these repulsive creatures that dwelt beneath their homes
and public buildings.

His exploration revealed not only the vast proportions of the network
of runways that apparently traversed every portion of the city, but the
great antiquity of the majority of them. Tons upon tons of dirt must
have been removed, and for a long time he wondered where it had been
deposited, until in following downward a tunnel of great size and
length he sensed before him the thunderous rush of subterranean waters,
and presently came to the bank of a great, underground river, tumbling
onward, no doubt, the length of a world to the buried sea of Omean.
Into this torrential sewer had unthinkable generations of ulsios pushed
their few handsful of dirt in the excavating of their vast labyrinth.

For only a moment did Ghek tarry by the river, for his seemingly
aimless wanderings were in reality prompted by a definite purpose, and
this he pursued with vigor and singleness of design. He followed such
runways as appeared to terminate in the pits or other chambers of the
inhabitants of the city, and these he explored, usually from the safety
of a burrow's mouth, until satisfied that what he sought was not there.
He moved swiftly upon his spider legs and covered remarkable distances
in short periods of time.

His search not being rewarded with immediate success, he decided to
return to the pit where his rykor lay chained and look to its wants. As
he approached the end of the burrow that terminated in the pit he
slackened his pace, stopping just within the entrance of the runway
that he might scan the interior of the chamber before entering it. As
he did so he saw the figure of a warrior appear suddenly in an opposite
doorway. The rykor sprawled upon the table, his hands groping blindly
for more food. Ghek saw the warrior pause and gaze in sudden
astonishment at the rykor; he saw the fellow's eyes go wide and an
ashen hue replace the copper bronze of his cheek. He stepped back as
though someone had struck him in the face. For an instant only he stood
thus as in a paralysis of fear, then he uttered a smothered shriek and
turned and fled. Again was it a catastrophe that Ghek, the kaldane,
could not smile.

Quickly entering the room he crawled to the table top and affixed
himself to the shoulders of his rykor, and there he waited; and who may
say that Ghek, though he could not smile, possessed not a sense of
humor? For a half-hour he sat there, and then there came to him the
sound of men approaching along corridors of stone. He could hear their
arms clank against the rocky walls and he knew that they came at a
rapid pace; but just before they reached the entrance to his prison
they paused and advanced more slowly. In the lead was an officer, and
just behind him, wide-eyed and perhaps still a little ashen, the
warrior who had so recently departed in haste. At the doorway they
halted and the officer turned sternly upon the warrior. With upraised
finger he pointed at Ghek.

"There sits the creature! Didst thou dare lie, then, to thy dwar?"

"I swear," cried the warrior, "that I spoke the truth. But a moment
since the thing groveled, headless, upon this very table! And may my
first ancestor strike me dead upon the spot if I speak other than a
true word!"

The officer looked puzzled. The men of Mars seldom if ever lie. He
scratched his head. Then he addressed Ghek. "How long have you been
here?" he asked.

"Who knows better than those who placed me here and chained me to a
wall?" he returned in reply.

"Saw you this warrior enter here a few minutes since?"

"I saw him," replied Ghek.

"And you sat there where you sit now?" continued the officer.

"Look thou to my chain and tell me then where else might I sit!" cried
Ghek. "Art the people of thy city all fools?"

Three other warriors pressed behind the two in front, craning their
necks to view the prisoner while they grinned at the discomfiture of
their fellow. The officer scowled at Ghek.

"Thy tongue is as venomous as that of the she-banth O-Tar sent to The
Towers of Jetan," he said.

"You speak of the young woman who was captured with me?" asked Ghek,
his expressionless monotone and face revealing naught of the interest
he felt.

"I speak of her," replied the dwar, and then turning to the warrior who
had summoned him: "return to thy quarters and remain there until the
next games. Perhaps by that time thy eyes may have learned not to
deceive thee."

The fellow cast a venomous glance at Ghek and turned away. The officer
shook his head. "I do not understand it," he muttered. "Always has
U-Van been a true and dependable warrior. Could it be—?" he glanced
piercingly at Ghek. "Thou hast a strange head that misfits thy body,
fellow," he cried. "Our legends tell us of those ancient creatures that
placed hallucinations upon the mind of their fellows. If thou be such
then maybe U-Van suffered from thy forbidden powers. If thou be such
O-Tar will know well how to deal with thee." He wheeled about and
motioned his warriors to follow him.

"Wait!" cried Ghek. "Unless I am to be starved, send me food."

"You have had food," replied the warrior.

"Am I to be fed but once a day?" asked Ghek. "I require food oftener
than that. Send me food."

"You shall have food," replied the officer. "None may say that the
prisoners of Manator are ill-fed. Just are the laws of Manator," and he
departed.

No sooner had the sounds of their passing died away in the distance
than Ghek clambered from the shoulders of his rykor, and scurried to
the burrow where he had hidden the key. Fetching it he unlocked the
fetter from about the creature's ankle, locked it empty and carried the
key farther down into the burrow. Then he returned to his place upon
his brainless servitor. After a while he heard footsteps approaching,
whereupon he rose and passed into another corridor from that down which
he knew the warrior was coming. Here he waited out of sight, listening.
He heard the man enter the chamber and halt. He heard a muttered
exclamation, followed by the jangle of metal dishes as a salver was
slammed upon a table; then rapidly retreating footsteps, which quickly
died away in the distance.

Ghek lost no time in returning to the chamber, recovering the key,
relocking the rykor to his chain. Then he replaced the key in the
burrow and squatting on the table beside his headless body, directed
its hands toward the food. While the rykor ate Ghek sat listening for
the scraping sandals and clattering arms that he knew soon would come.
Nor had he long to wait. Ghek scrambled to the shoulders of his rykor
as he heard them coming. Again it was the officer who had been summoned
by U-Van and with him were three warriors. The one directly behind him
was evidently the same who had brought the food, for his eyes went wide
when he saw Ghek sitting at the table and he looked very foolish as the
dwar turned his stern glance upon him.

"It is even as I said," he cried. "He was not here when I brought his
food."

"But he is here now," said the officer grimly, "and his fetter is
locked about his ankle. Look! it has not been opened—but where is the
key? It should be upon the table at the end opposite him. Where is the
key, creature?" he shouted at Ghek.

"How should I, a prisoner, know better than my jailer the whereabouts
of the key to my fetters?" he retorted.

"But it lay here," cried the officer, pointing to the other end of the
table.

"Did you see it?" asked Ghek.

The officer hesitated. "No but it must have been there," he parried.

"Did you see the key lying there?" asked Ghek, pointing to another
warrior.

The fellow shook his head negatively. "And you? and you?" continued the
kaldane addressing the others.

They both admitted that they never had seen the key. "And if it had
been there how could I have reached it?" he continued.

"No, he could not have reached it," admitted the officer; "but there
shall be no more of this! I-Zav, you will remain here on guard with
this prisoner until you are relieved."

I-Zav looked anything but happy as this intelligence was transmitted to
him, and he eyed Ghek suspiciously as the dwar and the other warriors
turned and left him to his unhappy lot.

CHAPTER XIII

A DESPERATE DEED

E-Med crossed the tower chamber toward Tara of Helium and the slave
girl, Lan-O. He seized the former roughly by a shoulder. "Stand!" he
commanded. Tara struck his hand from her and rising, backed away.

"Lay not your hand upon the person of a princess of Helium, beast!" she
warned.

E-Med laughed. "Think you that I play at jetan for you without first
knowing something of the stake for which I play?" he demanded. "Come
here!"

The girl drew herself to her full height, folding her arms across her
breast, nor did E-Med note that the slim fingers of her right hand were
inserted beneath the broad leather strap of her harness where it passed
over her left shoulder.

"And O-Tar learns of this you shall rue it, E-Med," cried the slave
girl; "there be no law in Manator that gives you this girl before you
shall have won her fairly."

"What cares O-Tar for her fate?" replied E-Med. "Have I not heard? Did
she not flout the great jeddak, heaping abuse upon him? By my first
ancestor, I think O-Tar might make a jed of the man who subdued her,"
and again he advanced toward Tara.

"Wait!" said the girl in low, even tone. "Perhaps you know not what you
do. Sacred to the people of Helium are the persons of the women of
Helium. For the honor of the humblest of them would the great jeddak
himself unsheathe his sword. The greatest nations of Barsoom have
trembled to the thunders of war in defense of the person of Dejah
Thoris, my mother. We are but mortal and so may die; but we may not be
defiled. You may play at jetan for a princess of Helium, but though you
may win the match, never may you claim the reward. If thou wouldst
possess a dead body press me too far, but know, man of Manator, that
the blood of The Warlord flows not in the veins of Tara of Helium for
naught. I have spoken."

"I know naught of Helium and O-Tar is our warlord," replied E-Med; "but
I do know that I would examine more closely the prize that I shall play
for and win. I would test the lips of her who is to be my slave after
the next games; nor is it well, woman, to drive me too far to anger."
His eyes narrowed as he spoke, his visage taking on the semblance of
that of a snarling beast. "If you doubt the truth of my words ask
Lan-O, the slave girl."

"He speaks truly, O woman of Helium," interjected Lan-O. "Try not the
temper of E-Med, if you value your life."

But Tara of Helium made no reply. Already had she spoken. She stood in
silence now facing the burly warrior who approached her. He came close
and then quite suddenly he seized her and, bending, tried to draw her
lips to his.

Lan-O saw the woman from Helium half turn, and with a quick movement
jerk her right hand from where it had lain upon her breast. She saw the
hand shoot from beneath the arm of E-Med and rise behind his shoulder
and she saw in the hand a long, slim blade. The lips of the warrior
were drawing closer to those of the woman, but they never touched them,
for suddenly the man straightened, stiffly, a shriek upon his lips, and
then he crumpled like an empty fur and lay, a shrunken heap, upon the
floor. Tara of Helium stooped and wiped her blade upon his harness.

Lan-O, wide-eyed, looked with horror upon the corpse. "For this we
shall both die," she cried.

"And who would live a slave in Manator?" asked Tara of Helium.

"I am not so brave as thou," said the slave girl, "and life is sweet
and there is always hope."

"Life is sweet," agreed Tara of Helium, "but honor is sacred. But do
not fear. When they come I shall tell them the truth—that you had no
hand in this and no opportunity to prevent it."

For a moment the slave girl seemed to be thinking deeply. Suddenly her
eyes lighted. "There is a way, perhaps," she said, "to turn suspicion
from us. He has the key to this chamber upon him. Let us open the door
and drag him out—maybe we shall find a place to hide him."

"Good!" exclaimed Tara of Helium, and the two immediately set about the
matter Lan-O had suggested. Quickly they found the key and unlatched
the door and then, between them, they half carried, half dragged, the
corpse of E-Med from the room and down the stairway to the next level
where Lan-O said there were vacant chambers. The first door they tried
was unlatched, and through this the two bore their grisly burden into a
small room lighted by a single window. The apartment bore evidence of
having been utilized as a living-room rather than as a cell, being
furnished with a degree of comfort and even luxury. The walls were
paneled to a height of about seven feet from the floor, while the
plaster above and the ceiling were decorated with faded paintings of
another day.

As Tara's eyes ran quickly over the interior her attention was drawn to
a section of paneling that seemed to be separated at one edge from the
piece next adjoining it. Quickly she crossed to it, discovering that
one vertical edge of an entire panel projected a half-inch beyond the
others. There was a possible explanation which piqued her curiosity,
and acting upon its suggestion she seized upon the projecting edge and
pulled outward. Slowly the panel swung toward her, revealing a dark
aperture in the wall behind.

"Look, Lan-O!" she cried. "See what I have found—a hole in which we
may hide the thing upon the floor."

Lan-O joined her and together the two investigated the dark aperture,
finding a small platform from which a narrow runway led downward into
Stygian darkness. Thick dust covered the floor within the doorway,
indicating that a great period of time had elapsed since human foot had
trod it—a secret way, doubtless, unknown to living Manatorians. Here
they dragged the corpse of E-Med, leaving it upon the platform, and as
they left the dark and forbidden closet Lan-O would have slammed to the
panel had not Tara prevented.

"Wait!" she said, and fell to examining the door frame and the stile.

"Hurry!" whispered the slave girl. "If they come we are lost."

"It may serve us well to know how to open this place again," replied
Tara of Helium, and then suddenly she pressed a foot against a section
of the carved base at the right of the open panel. "Ah!" she breathed,
a note of satisfaction in her tone, and closed the panel until it
fitted snugly in its place. "Come!" she said and turned toward the
outer doorway of the chamber.

They reached their own cell without detection, and closing the door
Tara locked it from the inside and placed the key in a secret pocket in
her harness.

"Let them come," she said. "Let them question us! What could two poor
prisoners know of the whereabouts of their noble jailer? I ask you,
Lan-O, what could they?"

"Nothing," admitted Lan-O, smiling with her companion.

"Tell me of these men of Manator," said Tara presently. "Are they all
like E-Med, or are some of them like A-Kor, who seemed a brave and
chivalrous character?"

"They are not unlike the peoples of other countries," replied Lan-O.
"There be among them both good and bad. They are brave warriors and
mighty. Among themselves they are not without chivalry and honor, but
in their dealings with strangers they know but one law—the law of
might. The weak and unfortunate of other lands fill them with contempt
and arouse all that is worst in their natures, which doubtless accounts
for their treatment of us, their slaves."

"But why should they feel contempt for those who have suffered the
misfortune of falling into their hands?" queried Tara.

"I do not know," said Lan-O; "A-Kor says that he believes that it is
because their country has never been invaded by a victorious foe. In
their stealthy raids never have they been defeated, because they have
never waited to face a powerful force; and so they have come to believe
themselves invincible, and the other peoples are held in contempt as
inferior in valor and the practice of arms."

"Yet A-Kor is one of them," said Tara.

"He is a son of O-Tar, the jeddak," replied Lan-O; "but his mother was
a high born Gatholian, captured and made slave by O-Tar, and A-Kor
boasts that in his veins runs only the blood of his mother, and indeed
is he different from the others. His chivalry is of a gentler form,
though not even his worst enemy has dared question his courage, while
his skill with the sword, and the spear, and the thoat is famous
throughout the length and breadth of Manator."

"What think you they will do with him?" asked Tara of Helium.

"Sentence him to the games," replied Lan-O. "If O-Tar be not greatly
angered he may be sentenced to but a single game, in which case he may
come out alive; but if O-Tar wishes really to dispose of him he will be
sentenced to the entire series, and no warrior has ever survived the
full ten, or rather none who was under a sentence from O-Tar."

"What are the games? I do not understand," said Tara "I have heard them
speak of playing at jetan, but surely no one can be killed at jetan. We
play it often at home."

"But not as they play it in the arena at Manator," replied Lan-O. "Come
to the window," and together the two approached an aperture facing
toward the east.

Below her Tara of Helium saw a great field entirely surrounded by the
low building, and the lofty towers of which that in which she was
imprisoned was but a unit. About the arena were tiers of seats; but the
thing that caught her attention was a gigantic jetan board laid out
upon the floor of the arena in great squares of alternate orange and
black.

"Here they play at jetan with living pieces. They play for great stakes
and usually for a woman—some slave of exceptional beauty. O-Tar
himself might have played for you had you not angered him, but now you
will be played for in an open game by slaves and criminals, and you
will belong to the side that wins—not to a single warrior, but to all
who survive the game."

The eyes of Tara of Helium flashed, but she made no comment.

"Those who direct the play do not necessarily take part in it,"
continued the slave girl, "but sit in those two great thrones which you
see at either end of the board and direct their pieces from square to
square."

"But where lies the danger?" asked Tara of Helium. "If a piece be taken
it is merely removed from the board—this is a rule of jetan as old
almost as the civilization of Barsoom."

"But here in Manator, when they play in the great arena with living
men, that rule is altered," explained Lan-O. "When a warrior is moved
to a square occupied by an opposing piece, the two battle to the death
for possession of the square and the one that is successful advantages
by the move. Each is caparisoned to simulate the piece he represents
and in addition he wears that which indicates whether he be slave, a
warrior serving a sentence, or a volunteer. If serving a sentence the
number of games he must play is also indicated, and thus the one
directing the moves knows which pieces to risk and which to conserve,
and further than this, a man's chances are affected by the position
that is assigned him for the game. Those whom they wish to die are
always Panthans in the game, for the Panthan has the least chance of
surviving."

"Do those who direct the play ever actually take part in it?" asked
Tara.

"Oh, yes," said Lan-O. "Often when two warriors, even of the highest
class, hold a grievance against one another O-Tar compels them to
settle it upon the arena. Then it is that they take active part and
with drawn swords direct their own players from the position of Chief.
They pick their own players, usually the best of their own warriors and
slaves, if they be powerful men who possess such, or their friends may
volunteer, or they may obtain prisoners from the pits. These are games
indeed—the very best that are seen. Often the great chiefs themselves
are slain."

"It is within this amphitheater that the justice of Manator is meted,
then?" asked Tara.

"Very largely," replied Lan-O.

"How, then, through such justice, could a prisoner win his liberty?"
continued the girl from Helium.

"If a man, and he survived ten games his liberty would be his," replied
Lan-O.

"But none ever survives?" queried Tara. "And if a woman?"

"No stranger within the gates of Manator ever has survived ten games,"
replied the slave girl. "They are permitted to offer themselves into
perpetual slavery if they prefer that to fighting at jetan. Of course
they may be called upon, as any warrior, to take part in a game, but
their chances then of surviving are increased, since they may never
again have the chance of winning to liberty."

"But a woman," insisted Tara; "how may a woman win her freedom?"

Lan-O laughed. "Very simply," she cried, derisively. "She has but to
find a warrior who will fight through ten consecutive games for her and
survive."

"'Just are the laws of Manator,'" quoted Tara, scornfully.

Then it was that they heard footsteps outside their cell and a moment
later a key turned in the lock and the door opened. A warrior faced
them.

"Hast seen E-Med the dwar?" he asked.

"Yes," replied Tara, "he was here some time ago."

The man glanced quickly about the bare chamber and then searchingly
first at Tara of Helium and then at the slave girl, Lan-O. The puzzled
expression upon his face increased. He scratched his head. "It is
strange," he said. "A score of men saw him ascend into this tower; and
though there is but a single exit, and that well guarded, no man has
seen him pass out."

Tara of Helium hid a yawn with the back of a shapely hand. "The
Princess of Helium is hungry, fellow," she drawled; "tell your master
that she would eat."

It was an hour later that food was brought, an officer and several
warriors accompanying the bearer. The former examined the room
carefully, but there was no sign that aught amiss had occurred there.
The wound that had sent E-Med the dwar to his ancestors had not bled,
fortunately for Tara of Helium.

"Woman," cried the officer, turning upon Tara, "you were the last to
see E-Med the dwar. Answer me now and answer me truthfully. Did you see
him leave this room?"

"I did," answered Tara of Helium.

"Where did he go from here?"

"How should I know? Think you that I can pass through a locked door of
skeel?" the girl's tone was scornful.

"Of that we do not know," said the officer. "Strange things have
happened in the cell of your companion in the pits of Manator. Perhaps
you could pass through a locked door of skeel as easily as he performs
seemingly more impossible feats."

"Whom do you mean," she cried; "Turan the panthan? He lives, then? Tell
me, is he here in Manator unharmed?"

"I speak of that thing which calls itself Ghek the kaldane," replied
the officer.

"But Turan! Tell me, padwar, have you heard aught of him?" Tara's tone
was insistent and she leaned a little forward toward the officer, her
lips slightly parted in expectancy.

Into the eyes of the slave girl, Lan-O, who was watching her, there
crept a soft light of understanding; but the officer ignored Tara's
question—what was the fate of another slave to him? "Men do not
disappear into thin air," he growled, "and if E-Med be not found soon
O-Tar himself may take a hand in this. I warn you, woman, if you be one
of those horrid Corphals that by commanding the spirits of the wicked
dead gains evil mastery over the living, as many now believe the thing
called Ghek to be, that lest you return E-Med, O-Tar will have no mercy
on you."

"What foolishness is this?" cried the girl. "I am a princess of Helium,
as I have told you all a score of times. Even if the fabled Corphals
existed, as none but the most ignorant now believes, the lore of the
ancients tells us that they entered only into the bodies of wicked
criminals of the lowest class. Man of Manator, thou art a fool, and thy
jeddak and all his people," and she turned her royal back upon the
padwar, and gazed through the window across the Field of Jetan and the
roofs of Manator through the low hills and the rolling country and
freedom.

"And you know so much of Corphals, then," he cried, "you know that
while no common man dare harm them they may be slain by the hand of a
jeddak with impunity!"

The girl did not reply, nor would she speak again, for all his threats
and rage, for she knew now that none in all Manator dared harm her save
O-Tar, the jeddak, and after a while the padwar left, taking his men
with him. And after they had gone Tara stood for long looking out upon
the city of Manator, and wondering what more of cruel wrongs Fate held
in store for her. She was standing thus in silent meditation when there
rose to her the strains of martial music from the city below—the deep,
mellow tones of the long war trumpets of mounted troops, the clear,
ringing notes of foot-soldiers' music. The girl raised her head and
looked about, listening, and Lan-O, standing at an opposite window,
looking toward the west, motioned Tara to join her. Now they could see
across roofs and avenues to The Gate of Enemies, through which troops
were marching into the city.

"The Great Jed is coming," said Lan-O, "none other dares enter thus,
with blaring trumpets, the city of Manator. It is U-Thor, Jed of
Manatos, second city of Manator. They call him The Great Jed the length
and breadth of Manator, and because the people love him, O-Tar hates
him. They say, who know, that it would need but slight provocation to
inflame the two to war. How such a war would end no one could guess;
for the people of Manator worship the great O-Tar, though they do not
love him. U-Thor they love, but he is not the jeddak," and Tara
understood, as only a Martian may, how much that simple statement
encompassed.

The loyalty of a Martian to his jeddak is almost an instinct, and
second not even to the instinct of self-preservation at that. Nor is
this strange in a race whose religion includes ancestor worship, and
where families trace their origin back into remote ages and a jeddak
sits upon the same throne that his direct progenitors have occupied
for, perhaps, hundreds of thousands of years, and rules the descendants
of the same people that his forebears ruled. Wicked jeddaks have been
dethroned, but seldom are they replaced by other than members of the
imperial house, even though the law gives to the jeds the right to
select whom they please.

"U-Thor is a just man and good, then?" asked Tara of Helium.

"There be none nobler," replied Lan-O. "In Manatos none but wicked
criminals who deserve death are forced to play at jetan, and even then
the play is fair and they have their chance for freedom. Volunteers may
play, but the moves are not necessarily to the death—a wound, and even
sometimes points in swordplay, deciding the issue. There they look upon
jetan as a martial sport—here it is but butchery. And U-Thor is
opposed to the ancient slave raids and to the policy that keeps Manator
forever isolated from the other nations of Barsoom; but U-Thor is not
jeddak and so there is no change."

The two girls watched the column moving up the broad avenue from The
Gate of Enemies toward the palace of O-Tar. A gorgeous, barbaric
procession of painted warriors in jewel-studded harness and waving
feathers; vicious, squealing thoats caparisoned in rich trappings; far
above their heads the long lances of their riders bore fluttering
pennons; foot-soldiers swinging easily along the stone pavement, their
sandals of zitidar hide giving forth no sound; and at the rear of each
utan a train of painted chariots, drawn by mammoth zitidars, carrying
the equipment of the company to which they were attached. Utan after
utan entered through the great gate, and even when the head of the
column reached the palace of O-Tar they were not all within the city.

"I have been here many years," said the girl, Lan-O; "but never have I
seen even The Great Jed bring so many fighting men into the city of
Manator."

Through half-closed eyes Tara of Helium watched the warriors marching
up the broad avenue, trying to imagine them the fighting men of her
beloved Helium coming to the rescue of their princess. That splendid
figure upon the great thoat might be John Carter, himself, Warlord of
Barsoom, and behind him utan after utan of the veterans of the empire,
and then the girl opened her eyes again and saw the host of painted,
befeathered barbarians, and sighed. But yet she watched, fascinated by
the martial scene, and now she noted again the groups of silent figures
upon the balconies. No waving silks; no cries of welcome; no showers of
flowers and jewels such as would have marked the entry of such a
splendid, friendly pageant into the twin cities of her birth.

"The people do not seem friendly to the warriors of Manatos," she
remarked to Lan-O; "I have not seen a single welcoming sign from the
people on the balconies."

The slave girl looked at her in surprise. "It cannot be that you do not
know!" she exclaimed. "Why, they are—" but she got no further. The
door swung open and an officer stood before them.

"The slave girl, Tara, is summoned to the presence of O-Tar, the
jeddak!" he announced.

CHAPTER XIV

AT GHEK'S COMMAND

Turan the panthan chafed in his chains. Time dragged; silence and
monotony prolonged minutes into hours. Uncertainty of the fate of the
woman he loved turned each hour into an eternity of hell. He listened
impatiently for the sound of approaching footsteps that he might see
and speak to some living creature and learn, perchance, some word of
Tara of Helium. After torturing hours his ears were rewarded by the
rattle of harness and arms. Men were coming! He waited breathlessly.
Perhaps they were his executioners; but he would welcome them
notwithstanding. He would question them. But if they knew naught of
Tara he would not divulge the location of the hiding place in which he
had left her.

Now they came—a half-dozen warriors and an officer, escorting an
unarmed man; a prisoner, doubtless. Of this Turan was not left long in
doubt, since they brought the newcomer and chained him to an adjoining
ring. Immediately the panthan commenced to question the officer in
charge of the guard.

"Tell me," he demanded, "why I have been made prisoner, and if other
strangers were captured since I entered your city."

"What other prisoners?" asked the officer.

"A woman, and a man with a strange head," replied Turan.

"It is possible," said the officer; "but what were their names?"

"The woman was Tara, Princess of Helium, and the man was Ghek, a
kaldane, of Bantoom."

"These were your friends?" asked the officer.

"Yes," replied Turan.

"It is what I would know," said the officer, and with a curt command to
his men to follow him he turned and left the cell.

"Tell me of them!" cried Turan after him. "Tell me of Tara of Helium!
Is she safe?" but the man did not answer and soon the sound of their
departure died in the distance.

"Tara of Helium was safe, but a short time since," said the prisoner
chained at Turan's side.

The panthan turned toward the speaker, seeing a large man, handsome of
face and with a manner both stately and dignified. "You have seen her?"
he asked. "They captured her then? She is in danger?"

"She is being held in The Towers of Jetan as a prize for the next
games," replied the stranger.

"And who are you?" asked Turan. "And why are you here, a prisoner?"

"I am A-Kor the dwar, keeper of The Towers of Jetan," replied the
other. "I am here because I dared speak the truth of O-Tar the jeddak,
to one of his officers."

"And your punishment?" asked Turan.

"I do not know. O-Tar has not yet spoken. Doubtless the games—perhaps
the full ten, for O-Tar does not love A-Kor, his son."

"You are the jeddak's son?" asked Turan.

"I am the son of O-Tar and of a slave, Haja of Gathol, who was a
princess in her own land."

Turan looked searchingly at the speaker. A son of Haja of Gathol! A son
of his mother's sister, this man, then, was his own cousin. Well did
Gahan remember the mysterious disappearance of the Princess Haja and an
entire utan of her personal troops. She had been upon a visit far from
the city of Gathol and returning home had vanished with her whole
escort from the sight of man. So this was the secret of the seeming
mystery? Doubtless it explained many other similar disappearances that
extended nearly as far back as the history of Gathol. Turan scrutinized
his companion, discovering many evidences of resemblance to his
mother's people. A-Kor might have been ten years younger than he, but
such differences in age are scarce accounted among a people who seldom
or never age outwardly after maturity and whose span of life may be a
thousand years.

"And where lies Gathol?" asked Turan.

"Almost due east of Manator," replied A-Kor.

"And how far?"

"Some twenty-one degrees it is from the city of Manator to the city of
Gathol," replied A-Kor; "but little more than ten degrees between the
boundaries of the two countries. Between them, though, there lies a
country of torn rocks and yawning chasms."

Well did Gahan know this country that bordered his upon the west—even
the ships of the air avoided it because of the treacherous currents
that rose from the deep chasms, and the almost total absence of safe
landings. He knew now where Manator lay and for the first time in long
weeks the way to his own Gathol, and here was a man, a fellow prisoner,
in whose veins flowed the blood of his own ancestors—a man who knew
Manator; its people, its customs and the country surrounding it—one
who could aid him, with advice at least, to find a plan for the rescue
of Tara of Helium and for escape. But would A-Kor—could he dare broach
the subject? He could do no less than try.

"And O-Tar you think will sentence you to death?" he asked; "and why?"

"He would like to," replied A-Kor, "for the people chafe beneath his
iron hand and their loyalty is but the loyalty of a people to the long
line of illustrious jeddaks from which he has sprung. He is a jealous
man and has found the means of disposing of most of those whose blood
might entitle them to a claim upon the throne, and whose place in the
affections of the people endowed them with any political significance.
The fact that I was the son of a slave relegated me to a position of
minor importance in the consideration of O-Tar, yet I am still the son
of a jeddak and might sit upon the throne of Manator with as perfect
congruity as O-Tar himself. Combined with this is the fact that of
recent years the people, and especially many of the younger warriors,
have evinced a growing affection for me, which I attribute to certain
virtues of character and training derived from my mother, but which
O-Tar assumes to be the result of an ambition upon my part to occupy
the throne of Manator.

"And now, I am firmly convinced, he has seized upon my criticism of his
treatment of the slave girl Tara as a pretext for ridding himself of
me."

"But if you could escape and reach Gathol," suggested Turan.

"I have thought of that," mused A-Kor; "but how much better off would I
be? In the eyes of the Gatholians I would be, not a Gatholian; but a
stranger and doubtless they would accord me the same treatment that we
of Manator accord strangers."

"Could you convince them that you are the son of the Princess Haja your
welcome would be assured," said Turan; "while on the other hand you
could purchase your freedom and citizenship with a brief period of
labor in the diamond mines."

"How know you all these things?" asked A-Kor. "I thought you were from
Helium."

"I am a panthan," replied Turan, "and I have served many countries,
among them Gathol."

"It is what the slaves from Gathol have told me," said A-Kor,
thoughtfully, "and my mother, before O-Tar sent her to live at Manatos.
I think he must have feared her power and influence among the slaves
from Gathol and their descendants, who number perhaps a million people
throughout the land of Manator."

"Are these slaves organized?" asked Turan.

A-Kor looked straight into the eyes of the panthan for a long moment
before he replied. "You are a man of honor," he said; "I read it in
your face, and I am seldom mistaken in my estimate of a man; but—" and
he leaned closer to the other—"even the walls have ears," he
whispered, and Turan's question was answered.

It was later in the evening that warriors came and unlocked the fetter
from Turan's ankle and led him away to appear before O-Tar, the jeddak.
They conducted him toward the palace along narrow, winding streets and
broad avenues; but always from the balconies there looked down upon
them in endless ranks the silent people of the city. The palace itself
was filled with life and activity. Mounted warriors galloped through
the corridors and up and down the runways connecting adjacent floors.
It seemed that no one walked within the palace other than a few slaves.
Squealing, fighting thoats were stabled in magnificent halls while
their riders, if not upon some duty of the palace, played at jetan with
small figures carved from wood.

Turan noted the magnificence of the interior architecture of the
palace, the lavish expenditure of precious jewels and metals, the
gorgeous mural decorations which depicted almost exclusively martial
scenes, and principally duels which seemed to be fought upon jetan
boards of heroic size. The capitals of many of the columns supporting
the ceilings of the corridors and chambers through which they passed
were wrought into formal likenesses of jetan pieces—everywhere there
seemed a suggestion of the game. Along the same path that Tara of
Helium had been led Turan was conducted toward the throne room of O-Tar
the jeddak, and when he entered the Hall of Chiefs his interest turned
to wonder and admiration as he viewed the ranks of statuesque thoatmen
decked in their gorgeous, martial panoply. Never, he thought, had he
seen upon Barsoom more soldierly figures or thoats so perfectly trained
to perfection of immobility as these. Not a muscle quivered, not a tail
lashed, and the riders were as motionless as their mounts—each warlike
eye straight to the front, the great spears inclined at the same angle.
It was a picture to fill the breast of a fighting man with awe and
reverence. Nor did it fail in its effect upon Turan as they conducted
him the length of the chamber, where he waited before great doors until
he should be summoned into the presence of the ruler of Manator.

When Tara of Helium was ushered into the throne room of O-Tar she found
the great hall filled with the chiefs and officers of O-Tar and U-Thor,
the latter occupying the place of honor at the foot of the throne, as
was his due. The girl was conducted to the foot of the aisle and halted
before the jeddak, who looked down upon her from his high throne with
scowling brows and fierce, cruel eyes.

"The laws of Manator are just," said O-Tar, addressing her; "thus is it
that you have been summoned here again to be judged by the highest
authority of Manator. Word has reached me that you are suspected of
being a Corphal. What word have you to say in refutation of the charge?"

Tara of Helium could scarce restrain a sneer as she answered the
ridiculous accusation of witchcraft. "So ancient is the culture of my
people," she said, "that authentic history reveals no defense for that
which we know existed only in the ignorant and superstitious minds of
the most primitive peoples of the past. To those who are yet so
untutored as to believe in the existence of Corphals, there can be no
argument that will convince them of their error—only long ages of
refinement and culture can accomplish their release from the bondage of
ignorance. I have spoken."

"Yet you do not deny the accusation," said O-Tar.

"It is not worthy the dignity of a denial," she responded haughtily.

"And I were you, woman," said a deep voice at her side, "I should,
nevertheless, deny it."

Tara of Helium turned to see the eyes of U-Thor, the great jed of
Manatos, upon her. Brave eyes they were, but neither cold nor cruel.
O-Tar rapped impatiently upon the arm of his throne. "U-Thor forgets,"
he cried, "that O-Tar is the jeddak."

"U-Thor remembers," replied the jed of Manatos, "that the laws of
Manator permit any who may be accused to have advice and counsel before
their judge."

Tara of Helium saw that for some reason this man would have assisted
her, and so she acted upon his advice.

"I deny the charge," she said, "I am no Corphal."

"Of that we shall learn," snapped O-Tar. "U-Dor, where are those who
have knowledge of the powers of this woman?"

And U-Dor brought several who recounted the little that was known of
the disappearance of E-Med, and others who told of the capture of Ghek
and Tara, suggesting by deduction that having been found together they
had sufficient in common to make it reasonably certain that one was as
bad as the other, and that, therefore, it remained but to convict one
of them of Corphalism to make certain the guilt of both. And then O-Tar
called for Ghek, and immediately the hideous kaldane was dragged before
him by warriors who could not conceal the fear in which they held this
creature.

"And you!" said O-Tar in cold accusing tones. "Already have I been told
enough of you to warrant me in passing through your heart the jeddak's
steel—of how you stole the brains from the warrior U-Van so that he
thought he saw your headless body still endowed with life; of how you
caused another to believe that you had escaped, making him to see
naught but an empty bench and a blank wall where you had been."

"Ah, O-Tar, but that is as nothing!" cried a young padwar who had come
in command of the escort that brought Ghek. "The thing which he did to
I-Zav, here, would prove his guilt alone."

"What did he to the warrior I-Zav?" demanded O-Tar. "Let I-Zav speak!"

The warrior I-Zav, a great fellow of bulging muscles and thick neck,
advanced to the foot of the throne. He was pale and still trembling
visibly as from a nervous shock.

"Let my first ancestor be my witness, O-Tar, that I speak the truth,"
he began. "I was left to guard this creature, who sat upon a bench,
shackled to the wall. I stood by the open doorway at the opposite side
of the chamber. He could not reach me, yet, O-Tar, may Iss engulf me if
he did not drag me to him helpless as an unhatched egg. He dragged me
to him, greatest of jeddaks, with his eyes! With his eyes he seized
upon my eyes and dragged me to him and he made me lay my swords and
dagger upon the table and back off into a corner, and still keeping his
eyes upon my eyes his head quitted his body and crawling upon six short
legs it descended to the floor and backed part way into the hole of an
ulsio, but not so far that the eyes were not still upon me and then it
returned with the key to its fetter and after resuming its place upon
its own shoulders it unlocked the fetter and again dragged me across
the room and made me to sit upon the bench where it had been and there
it fastened the fetter about my ankle, and I could do naught for the
power of its eyes and the fact that it wore my two swords and my
dagger. And then the head disappeared down the hole of the ulsio with
the key, and when it returned, it resumed its body and stood guard over
me at the doorway until the padwar came to fetch it hither."

"It is enough!" said O-Tar, sternly. "Both shall receive the jeddak's
steel," and rising from his throne he drew his long sword and descended
the marble steps toward them, while two brawny warriors seized Tara by
either arm and two seized Ghek, holding them facing the naked blade of
the jeddak.

"Hold, just O-Tar!" cried U-Dor. "There be yet another to be judged.
Let us confront him who calls himself Turan with these his fellows
before they die."

"Good!" exclaimed O-Tar, pausing half way down the steps. "Fetch Turan,
the slave!"

When Turan had been brought into the chamber he was placed a little to
Tara's left and a step nearer the throne. O-Tar eyed him menacingly.

"You are Turan," he asked, "friend and companion of these?"

The panthan was about to reply when Tara of Helium spoke. "I know not
this fellow," she said. "Who dares say that he be a friend and
companion of the Princess Tara of Helium?"

Turan and Ghek looked at her in surprise, but at Turan she did not
look, and to Ghek she passed a quick glance of warning, as to say:
"Hold thy peace."

The panthan tried not to fathom her purpose for the head is useless
when the heart usurps its functions, and Turan knew only that the woman
he loved had denied him, and though he tried not even to think it his
foolish heart urged but a single explanation—that she refused to
recognize him lest she be involved in his difficulties.

O-Tar looked first at one and then at another of them; but none of them
spoke.

"Were they not captured together?" he asked of U-Dor.

"No," replied the dwar. "He who is called Turan was found seeking
entrance to the city and was enticed to the pits. The following morning
I discovered the other two upon the hill beyond The Gate of Enemies."

"But they are friends and companions," said a young padwar, "for this
Turan inquired of me concerning these two, calling them by name and
saying that they were his friends."

"It is enough," stated O-Tar, "all three shall die," and he took
another step downward from the throne.

"For what shall we die?" asked Ghek. "Your people prate of the just
laws of Manator, and yet you would slay three strangers without telling
them of what crime they are accused."

"He is right," said a deep voice. It was the voice of U-Thor, the great
jed of Manatos. O-Tar looked at him and scowled; but there came voices
from other portions of the chamber seconding the demand for justice.

"Then know, though you shall die anyway," cried O-Tar, "that all three
are convicted of Corphalism and that as only a jeddak may slay such as
you in safety you are about to be honored with the steel of O-Tar."

"Fool!" cried Turan. "Know you not that in the veins of this woman
flows the blood of ten thousand jeddaks—that greater than yours is her
power in her own land? She is Tara, Princess of Helium,
great-granddaughter of Tardos Mors, daughter of John Carter, Warlord of
Barsoom. She cannot be a Corphal. Nor is this creature Ghek, nor am I.
And you would know more, I can prove my right to be heard and to be
believed if I may have word with the Princess Haja of Gathol, whose son
is my fellow prisoner in the pits of O-Tar, his father."

At this U-Thor rose to his feet and faced O-Tar. "What means this?" he
asked. "Speaks the man the truth? Is the son of Haja a prisoner in thy
pits, O-Tar?"

"And what is it to the jed of Manatos who be the prisoners in the pits
of his jeddak?" demanded O-Tar, angrily.

"It is this to the jed of Manatos," replied U-Thor in a voice so low as
to be scarce more than a whisper and yet that was heard the whole
length and breadth of the great throne room of O-Tar, Jeddak of
Manator. "You gave me a slave woman, Haja, who had been a princess in
Gathol, because you feared her influence among the slaves from Gathol.
I have made of her a free woman, and I have married her and made her
thus a princess of Manatos. Her son is my son, O-Tar, and though thou
be my jeddak, I say to you that for any harm that befalls A-Kor you
shall answer to U-Thor of Manatos."

O-Tar looked long at U-Thor, but he made no reply. Then he turned again
to Turan. "If one be a Corphal," he said, "then all of you be Corphals,
and we know well from the things that this creature has done," he
pointed at Ghek, "that he is a Corphal, for no mortal has such powers
as he. And as you are all Corphals you must all die." He took another
step downward, when Ghek spoke.

"These two have no such powers as I," he said. "They are but ordinary,
brainless things such as yourself. I have done all the things that your
poor, ignorant warriors have told you; but this only demonstrates that
I am of a higher order than yourselves, as is indeed the fact. I am a
kaldane, not a Corphal. There is nothing supernatural or mysterious
about me, other than that to the ignorant all things which they cannot
understand are mysterious. Easily might I have eluded your warriors and
escaped your pits; but I remained in the hope that I might help these
two foolish creatures who have not the brains to escape without help.
They befriended me and saved my life. I owe them this debt. Do not slay
them—they are harmless. Slay me if you will. I offer my life if it
will appease your ignorant wrath. I cannot return to Bantoom and so I
might as well die, for there is no pleasure in intercourse with the
feeble intellects that cumber the face of the world outside the valley
of Bantoom."

"Hideous egotist," said O-Tar, "prepare to die and assume not to
dictate to O-Tar the jeddak. He has passed sentence and all three of
you shall feel the jeddak's naked steel. I have spoken!"

He took another step downward and then a strange thing happened. He
paused, his eyes fixed upon the eyes of Ghek. His sword slipped from
nerveless fingers, and still he stood there swaying forward and back. A
jed rose to rush to his side; but Ghek stopped him with a word.

"Wait!" he cried. "The life of your jeddak is in my hands. You believe
me a Corphal and so you believe, too, that only the sword of a jeddak
may slay me, therefore your blades are useless against me. Offer harm
to any one of us, or seek to approach your jeddak until I have spoken,
and he shall sink lifeless to the marble. Release the two prisoners and
let them come to my side—I would speak to them, privately. Quick! do
as I say; I would as lief as not slay O-Tar. I but let him live that I
may gain freedom for my friends—obstruct me and he dies."

The guards fell back, releasing Tara and Turan, who came close to
Ghek's side.

"Do as I tell you and do it quickly," whispered the kaldane. "I cannot
hold this fellow long, nor could I kill him thus. There are many minds
working against mine and presently mine will tire and O-Tar will be
himself again. You must make the best of your opportunity while you
may. Behind the arras that you see hanging in the rear of the throne
above you is a secret opening. From it a corridor leads to the pits of
the palace, where there are storerooms containing food and drink. Few
people go there. From these pits lead others to all parts of the city.
Follow one that runs due west and it will bring you to The Gate of
Enemies. The rest will then lie with you. I can do no more; hurry
before my waning powers fail me—I am not as Luud, who was a king. He
could have held this creature forever. Make haste! Go!"

CHAPTER XV

THE OLD MAN OF THE PITS

"I shall not desert you, Ghek," said Tara of Helium, simply.

"Go! Go!" whispered the kaldane. "You can do me no good. Go, or all I
have done is for naught."

Tara shook her head. "I cannot," she said.

"They will slay her," said Ghek to Turan, and the panthan, torn between
loyalty to this strange creature who had offered its life for him, and
love of the woman, hesitated but a moment, then he swept Tara from her
feet and lifting her in his arms leaped up the steps that led to the
throne of Manator. Behind the throne he parted the arras and found the
secret opening. Into this he bore the girl and down a long, narrow
corridor and winding runways that led to lower levels until they came
to the pits of the palace of O-Tar. Here was a labyrinth of passages
and chambers presenting a thousand hiding-places.

As Turan bore Tara up the steps toward the throne a score of warriors
rose as though to rush forward to intercept them. "Stay!" cried Ghek,
"or your jeddak dies," and they halted in their tracks, waiting the
will of this strange, uncanny creature.

Presently Ghek took his eyes from the eyes of O-Tar and the jeddak
shook himself as one who would be rid of a bad dream and straightened
up, half dazed still.

"Look," said Ghek, then, "I have given your jeddak his life, nor have I
harmed one of those whom I might easily have slain when they were in my
power. No harm have I or my friends done in the city of Manator. Why
then should you persecute us? Give us our lives. Give us our liberty."

O-Tar, now in command of his faculties, stooped and regained his sword.
In the room was silence as all waited to hear the jeddak's answer.

"Just are the laws of Manator," he said at last. "Perhaps, after all,
there is truth in the words of the stranger. Return him then to the
pits and pursue the others and capture them. Through the mercy of O-Tar
they shall be permitted to win their freedom upon the Field of Jetan,
in the coming games."

Still ashen was the face of the jeddak as Ghek was led away and his
appearance was that of a man who had been snatched from the brink of
eternity into which he has gazed, not with the composure of great
courage, but with fear. There were those in the throne room who knew
that the execution of the three prisoners had but been delayed and the
responsibility placed upon the shoulders of others, and one of those
who knew was U-Thor, the great jed of Manatos. His curling lip
betokened his scorn of the jeddak who had chosen humiliation rather
than death. He knew that O-Tar had lost more of prestige in those few
moments than he could regain in a lifetime, for the Martians are
jealous of the courage of their chiefs—there can be no evasions of
stern duty, no temporizing with honor. That there were others in the
room who shared U-Thor's belief was evidenced by the silence and the
grim scowls.

O-Tar glanced quickly around. He must have sensed the hostility and
guessed its cause, for he went suddenly angry, and as one who seeks by
the vehemence of his words to establish the courage of his heart he
roared forth what could be considered as naught other than a challenge.

"The will of O-Tar, the jeddak, is the law of Manator," he cried, "and
the laws of Manator are just—they cannot err. U-Dor, dispatch those
who will search the palace, the pits, and the city, and return the
fugitives to their cells.

"And now for you, U-Thor of Manatos! Think you with impunity to
threaten your jeddak—to question his right to punish traitors and
instigators of treason? What am I to think of your own loyalty, who
takes to wife a woman I have banished from my court because of her
intrigues against the authority of her jeddak and her master? But O-Tar
is just. Make your explanations and your peace, then, before it is too
late."

"U-Thor has nothing to explain," replied the jed of Manatos; "nor is he
at war with his jeddak; but he has the right that every jed and every
warrior enjoys, of demanding justice at the hands of the jeddak for
whomsoever he believes to be persecuted. With increasing rigor has the
jeddak of Manator persecuted the slaves from Gathol since he took to
himself the unwilling Princess Haja. If the slaves from Gathol have
harbored thoughts of vengeance and escape 'tis no more than might be
expected from a proud and courageous people. Ever have I counselled
greater fairness in our treatment of our slaves, many of whom, in their
own lands, are people of great distinction and power; but always has
O-Tar, the jeddak, flouted with arrogance my every suggestion. Though
it has been through none of my seeking that the question has arisen now
I am glad that it has, for the time was bound to come when the jeds of
Manator would demand from O-Tar the respect and consideration that is
their due from the man who holds his high office at their pleasure.
Know, then, O-Tar, that you must free A-Kor, the dwar, forthwith or
bring him to fair trial before the assembled jeds of Manator. I have
spoken."

"You have spoken well and to the point, U-Thor," cried O-Tar, "for you
have revealed to your jeddak and your fellow jeds the depth of the
disloyalty that I have long suspected. A-Kor already has been tried and
sentenced by the supreme tribunal of Manator—O-Tar, the jeddak; and
you too shall receive justice from the same unfailing source. In the
meantime you are under arrest. To the pits with him! To the pits with
U-Thor the false jed!" He clapped his hands to summon the surrounding
warriors to do his bidding. A score leaped forward to seize U-Thor.
They were warriors of the palace, mostly; but two score leaped to
defend U-Thor, and with ringing steel they fought at the foot of the
steps to the throne of Manator where stood O-Tar, the jeddak, with
drawn sword ready to take his part in the melee.

At the clash of steel, palace guards rushed to the scene from other
parts of the great building until those who would have defended U-Thor
were outnumbered two to one, and then the jed of Manatos slowly
withdrew with his forces, and fighting his way through the corridors
and chambers of the palace came at last to the avenue. Here he was
reinforced by the little army that had marched with him into Manator.
Slowly they retreated toward The Gate of Enemies between the rows of
silent people looking down upon them from the balconies and there,
within the city walls, they made their stand.

In a dimly-lighted chamber beneath the palace of O-Tar the jeddak,
Turan the panthan lowered Tara of Helium from his arms and faced her.
"I am sorry, Princess," he said, "that I was forced to disobey your
commands, or to abandon Ghek; but there was no other way. Could he have
saved you I would have stayed in his place. Tell me that you forgive
me."

"How could I do less?" she replied graciously. "But it seemed cowardly
to abandon a friend."

"Had we been three fighting men it had been different," he said. "We
could only have remained and died together, fighting; but you know,
Tara of Helium, that we may not jeopardize a woman's safety even though
we risk the loss of honor."

"I know that, Turan," she said; "but no one may say that you have
risked honor, who knows the honor and bravery that are yours."

He heard her with surprise for these were the first words that she had
spoken to him that did not savor of the attitude of a princess to a
panthan—though it was more in her tone than the actual words that he
apprehended the difference. How at variance were they to her recent
repudiation of him! He could not fathom her, and so he blurted out the
question that had been in his mind since she had told O-Tar that she
did not know him.

"Tara of Helium," he said, "your words are balm to the wound you gave
me in the throne room of O-Tar. Tell me, Princess, why you denied me."

She turned her great, deep eyes up to his and in them was a little of
reproach.

"You did not guess," she asked, "that it was my lips alone and not my
heart that denied you? O-Tar had ordered that I die, more because I was
a companion of Ghek than because of any evidence against me, and so I
knew that if I acknowledged you as one of us, you would be slain, too."

"It was to save me, then?" he cried, his face suddenly lighting.

"It was to save my brave panthan," she said in a low voice.

"Tara of Helium," said the warrior, dropping to one knee, "your words
are as food to my hungry heart," and he took her fingers in his and
pressed them to his lips.

Gently she raised him to his feet. "You need not tell me, kneeling,"
she said, softly.

Her hand was still in his as he rose and they were very close, and the
man was still flushed with the contact of her body since he had carried
her from the throne room of O-Tar. He felt his heart pounding in his
breast and the hot blood surging through his veins as he looked at her
beautiful face, with its downcast eyes and the half-parted lips that he
would have given a kingdom to possess, and then he swept her to him and
as he crushed her against his breast his lips smothered hers with
kisses.

But only for an instant. Like a tigress the girl turned upon him,
striking him, and thrusting him away. She stepped back, her head high
and her eyes flashing fire. "You would dare?" she cried. "You would
dare thus defile a princess of Helium?"

His eyes met hers squarely and there was no shame and no remorse in
them.

"Yes, I would dare," he said. "I would dare love Tara of Helium; but I
would not dare defile her or any woman with kisses that were not
prompted by love of her alone." He stepped closer to her and laid his
hands upon her shoulders. "Look into my eyes, daughter of The Warlord,"
he said, "and tell me that you do not wish the love of Turan, the
panthan."

"I do not wish your love," she cried, pulling away. "I hate you!" and
then turning away she bent her head into the hollow of her arm, and
wept.

The man took a step toward her as though to comfort her when he was
arrested by the sound of a crackling laugh behind him. Wheeling about,
he discovered a strange figure of a man standing in a doorway. It was
one of those rarities occasionally to be seen upon Barsoom—an old man
with the signs of age upon him. Bent and wrinkled, he had more the
appearance of a mummy than a man.

"Love in the pits of O-Tar!" he cried, and again his thin laughter
jarred upon the silence of the subterranean vaults. "A strange place to
woo! A strange place to woo, indeed! When I was a young man we roamed
in the gardens beneath giant pimalias and stole our kisses in the brief
shadows of hurtling Thuria. We came not to the gloomy pits to speak of
love; but times have changed and ways have changed, though I had never
thought to live to see the time when the way of a man with a maid, or a
maid with a man would change. Ah, but we kissed them then! And what if
they objected, eh? What if they objected? Why, we kissed them more. Ey,
ey, those were the days!" and he cackled again. "Ey, well do I recall
the first of them I ever kissed, and I've kissed an army of them since;
she was a fine girl, but she tried to slip a dagger into me while I was
kissing her. Ey, ey, those were the days! But I kissed her. She's been
dead over a thousand years now, but she was never kissed again like
that while she lived, I'll swear, not since she's been dead, either.
And then there was that other—" but Turan, seeing a thousand or more
years of osculatory memoirs portending, interrupted.

"Tell me, ancient one," he said, "not of thy loves but of thyself. Who
are you? What do you here in the pits of O-Tar?"

"I might ask you the same, young man," replied the other. "Few there
are who visit the pits other than the dead, except my pupils—ey! That
is it—you are new pupils! Good! But never before have they sent a
woman to learn the great art from the greatest artist. But times have
changed. Now, in my day the women did no work—they were just for
kissing and loving. Ey, those were the women. I mind the one we
captured in the south—ey! she was a devil, but how she could love. She
had breasts of marble and a heart of fire. Why, she—"

"Yes, yes," interrupted Turan; "we are pupils, and we are anxious to
get to work. Lead on and we will follow."

"Ey, yes! Ey, yes! Come! All is rush and hurry as though there were not
another countless myriad of ages ahead. Ey, yes! as many as lie behind.
Two thousand years have passed since I broke my shell and always rush,
rush, rush, yet I cannot see that aught has been accomplished. Manator
is the same today as it was then—except the girls. We had the girls
then. There was one that I gained upon The Fields of Jetan. Ey, but you
should have seen—"

"Lead on!" cried Turan. "After we are at work you shall tell us of her."

"Ey, yes," said the old fellow and shuffled off down a dimly lighted
passage. "Follow me!"

"You are going with him?" asked Tara.

"Why not?" replied Turan. "We know not where we are, or the way from
these pits; for I know not east from west; but he doubtless knows and
if we are shrewd we may learn from him that which we would know. At
least we cannot afford to arouse his suspicions"; and so they followed
him—followed along winding corridors and through many chambers, until
they came at last to a room in which there were several marble slabs
raised upon pedestals some three feet above the floor and upon each
slab lay a human corpse.

"Here we are," exclaimed the old man. "These are fresh and we shall
have to get to work upon them soon. I am working now on one for The
Gate of Enemies. He slew many of our warriors. Truly is he entitled to
a place in The Gate. Come, you shall see him."

He led them to an adjoining apartment. Upon the floor were many fresh,
human bones and upon a marble slab a mass of shapeless flesh.

"You will learn this later," announced the old man; "but it will not
harm you to watch me now, for there are not many thus prepared, and it
may be long before you will have the opportunity to see another
prepared for The Gate of Enemies. First, you see, I remove all the
bones, carefully that the skin may be damaged as little as possible.
The skull is the most difficult, but it can be removed by a skilful
artist. You see, I have made but a single opening. This I now sew up,
and that done, the body is hung so," and he fastened a piece of rope to
the hair of the corpse and swung the horrid thing to a ring in the
ceiling. Directly below it was a circular manhole in the floor from
which he removed the cover revealing a well partially filled with a
reddish liquid. "Now we lower it into this, the formula for which you
shall learn in due time. We fasten it thus to the bottom of the cover,
which we now replace. In a year it will be ready; but it must be
examined often in the meantime and the liquid kept above the level of
its crown. It will be a very beautiful piece, this one, when it is
ready.

"And you are fortunate again, for there is one to come out today." He
crossed to the opposite side of the room and raised another cover,
reached in and dragged a grotesque looking figure from the hole. It was
a human body, shrunk by the action of the chemical in which it had been
immersed, to a little figure scarce a foot high.

"Ey! is it not fine?" cried the little old man. "Tomorrow it will take
its place in The Gate of Enemies." He dried it off with cloths and
packed it away carefully in a basket. "Perhaps you would like to see
some of my life work," he suggested, and without waiting for their
assent led them to another apartment, a large chamber in which were
forty or fifty people. All were sitting or standing quietly about the
walls, with the exception of one huge warrior who bestrode a great
thoat in the very center of the room, and all were motionless.
Instantly there sprang to the minds of Tara and Turan the rows of
silent people upon the balconies that lined the avenues of the city,
and the noble array of mounted warriors in The Hall of Chiefs, and the
same explanation came to both but neither dared voice the question that
was in his mind, for fear of revealing by his ignorance the fact that
they were strangers in Manator and therefore impostors in the guise of
pupils.

"It is very wonderful," said Turan. "It must require great skill and
patience and time."

"That it does," replied the old man, "though having done it so long I
am quicker than most; but mine are the most natural. Why, I would defy
the wife of that warrior to say that insofar as appearances are
concerned he does not live," and he pointed at the man upon the thoat.
"Many of them, of course, are brought here wasted or badly wounded and
these I have to repair. That is where great skill is required, for
everyone wants his dead to look as they did at their best in life; but
you shall learn—to mount them and paint them and repair them and
sometimes to make an ugly one look beautiful. And it will be a great
comfort to be able to mount your own. Why, for fifteen hundred years no
one has mounted my own dead but myself.

"I have many, my balconies are crowded with them; but I keep a great
room for my wives. I have them all, as far back as the first one, and
many is the evening I spend with them—quiet evenings and very
pleasant. And then the pleasure of preparing them and making them even
more beautiful than in life partially recompenses one for their loss. I
take my time with them, looking for a new one while I am working on the
old. When I am not sure about a new one I bring her to the chamber
where my wives are, and compare her charms with theirs, and there is
always a great satisfaction at such times in knowing that they will not
object. I love harmony."

"Did you prepare all the warriors in The Hall of Chiefs?" asked Turan.

"Yes, I prepare them and repair them," replied the old man. "O-Tar will
trust no other. Even now I have two in another room who were damaged in
some way and brought down to me. O-Tar does not like to have them gone
long, since it leaves two riderless thoats in the Hall; but I shall
have them ready presently. He wants them all there in the event any
momentous question arises upon which the living jeds cannot agree, or
do not agree with O-Tar. Such questions he carries to the jeds in The
Hall of Chiefs. There he shuts himself up alone with the great chiefs
who have attained wisdom through death. It is an excellent plan and
there is never any friction or misunderstandings. O-Tar has said that
it is the finest deliberative body upon Barsoom—much more intelligent
than that composed of the living jeds. But come, we must get to work;
come into the next chamber and I will begin your instruction."

He led the way into the chamber in which lay the several corpses upon
their marble slabs, and going to a cabinet he donned a pair of huge
spectacles and commenced to select various tools from little
compartments. This done he turned again toward his two pupils.

"Now let me have a look at you," he said. "My eyes are not what they
once were, and I need these powerful lenses for my work, or to see
distinctly the features of those around me."

He turned his eyes upon the two before him. Turan held his breath for
he knew that now the man must discover that they wore not the harness
or insignia of Manator. He had wondered before why the old fellow had
not noticed it, for he had not known that he was half blind. The other
examined their faces, his eyes lingering long upon the beauty of Tara
of Helium, and then they drifted to the harness of the two. Turan
thought that he noted an appreciable start of surprise on the part of
the taxidermist, but if the old man noticed anything his next words did
not reveal it.

"Come with I-Gos," he said to Turan. "I have materials in the next room
that I would have you fetch hither. Remain here, woman, we shall be
gone but a moment."

He led the way to one of the numerous doors opening into the chamber
and entered ahead of Turan. Just inside the door he stopped, and
pointing to a bundle of silks and furs upon the opposite side of the
room directed Turan to fetch them. The latter had crossed the room and
was stooping to raise the bundle when he heard the click of a lock
behind him. Wheeling instantly he saw that he was alone in the room and
that the single door was closed. Running rapidly to it he strove to
open it, only to find that he was a prisoner.

"Your leather betrayed you," he said, laughing his cackling laugh. "You
sought to deceive old I-Gos, but you found that though his eyes are
weak his brain is not. But it shall not go ill with you. You are
beautiful and I-Gos loves beautiful women. I might not have you
elsewhere in Manator, but here there is none to deny old I-Gos. Few
come to the pits of the dead—only those who bring the dead and they
hasten away as fast as they can. No one will know that I-Gos has a
beautiful woman locked with his dead. I shall ask you no questions and
then I will not have to give you up, for I will not know to whom you
belong, eh? And when you die I shall mount you beautifully and place
you in the chamber with my other women. Will not that be fine, eh?" He
had approached until he stood close beside the horrified girl. "Come!"
he cried, seizing her by the wrist. "Come to I-Gos!"

CHAPTER XVI

ANOTHER CHANGE OF NAME

Turan dashed himself against the door of his prison in a vain effort to
break through the solid skeel to the side of Tara whom he knew to be in
grave danger, but the heavy panels held and he succeeded only in
bruising his shoulders and his arms. At last he desisted and set about
searching his prison for some other means of escape. He found no other
opening in the stone walls, but his search revealed a heterogeneous
collection of odds and ends of arms and apparel, of harness and
ornaments and insignia, and sleeping silks and furs in great
quantities. There were swords and spears and several large, two-bladed
battle-axes, the heads of which bore a striking resemblance to the
propellor of a small flier. Seizing one of these he attacked the door
once more with great fury. He expected to hear something from I-Gos at
this ruthless destruction, but no sound came to him from beyond the
door, which was, he thought, too thick for the human voice to
penetrate; but he would have wagered much that I-Gos heard him. Bits of
the hard wood splintered at each impact of the heavy axe, but it was
slow work and heavy. Presently he was compelled to rest, and so it went
for what seemed hours—working almost to the verge of exhaustion and
then resting for a few minutes; but ever the hole grew larger though he
could see nothing of the interior of the room beyond because of the
hanging that I-Gos had drawn across it after he had locked Turan within.

At last, however, the panthan had hewn an opening through which his
body could pass, and seizing a long-sword that he had brought close to
the door for the purpose he crawled through into the next room.
Flinging aside the arras he stood ready, sword in hand, to fight his
way to the side of Tara of Helium—but she was not there. In the center
of the room lay I-Gos, dead upon the floor; but Tara of Helium was
nowhere to be seen.

Turan was nonplussed. It must have been her hand that had struck down
the old man, yet she had made no effort to release Turan from his
prison. And then he thought of those last words of hers: "I do not want
your love! I hate you," and the truth dawned upon him—she had seized
upon this first opportunity to escape him. With downcast heart Turan
turned away. What should he do? There could be but one answer. While he
lived and she lived he must still leave no stone unturned to effect her
escape and safe return to the land of her people. But how? How was he
even to find his way from this labyrinth? How was he to find her again?
He walked to the nearest doorway. It chanced to be that which led into
the room containing the mounted dead, awaiting transportation to
balcony or grim room or whatever place was to receive them. His eyes
travelled to the great, painted warrior on the thoat and as they ran
over the splendid trappings and the serviceable arms a new light came
into the pain-dulled eyes of the panthan. With a quick step he crossed
to the side of the dead warrior and dragged him from his mount. With
equal celerity he stripped him of his harness and his arms, and tearing
off his own, donned the regalia of the dead man. Then he hastened back
to the room in which he had been trapped, for there he had seen that
which he needed to make his disguise complete. In a cabinet he found
them—pots of paint that the old taxidermist had used to place the
war-paint in its wide bands across the cold faces of dead warriors.

A few moments later Gahan of Gathol emerged from the room a warrior of
Manator in every detail of harness, equipment, and ornamentation. He
had removed from the leather of the dead man the insignia of his house
and rank so that he might pass, with the least danger of arousing
suspicion, as a common warrior.

To search for Tara of Helium in the vast, dim labyrinth of the pits of
O-Tar seemed to the Gatholian a hopeless quest, foredoomed to failure.
It would be wiser to seek the streets of Manator where he might hope to
learn first if she had been recaptured and, if not, then he could
return to the pits and pursue the hunt for her. To find egress from the
maze he must perforce travel a considerable distance through the
winding corridors and chambers, since he had no idea as to the location
or direction of any exit. In fact, he could not have retraced his steps
a hundred yards toward the point at which he and Tara had entered the
gloomy caverns, and so he set out in the hope that he might find by
accident either Tara of Helium or a way to the street level above.

For a time he passed room after room filled with the cunningly
preserved dead of Manator, many of which were piled in tiers after the
manner that firewood is corded, and as he moved through corridor and
chamber he noticed hieroglyphics painted upon the walls above every
opening and at each fork or crossing of corridors, until by observation
he reached the conclusion that these indicated the designations of
passageways, so that one who understood them might travel quickly and
surely through the pits; but Turan did not understand them. Even could
he have read the language of Manator they might not materially have
aided one unfamiliar with the city; but he could not read them at all
since, though there is but one spoken language upon Barsoom, there are
as many different written languages as there are nations. One thing,
however, soon became apparent to him—the hieroglyphic of a corridor
remained the same until the corridor ended.

It was not long before Turan realized from the distance that he had
traveled that the pits were part of a vast system undermining,
possibly, the entire city. At least he was convinced that he had passed
beyond the precincts of the palace. The corridors and chambers varied
in appearance and architecture from time to time. All were lighted,
though usually quite dimly, with radium bulbs. For a long time he saw
no signs of life other than an occasional ulsio, then quite suddenly he
came face to face with a warrior at one of the numerous crossings. The
fellow looked at him, nodded, and passed on. Turan breathed a sigh of
relief as he realized that his disguise was effective, but he was
caught in the middle of it by a hail from the warrior who had stopped
and turned toward him. The panthan was glad that a sword hung at his
side, and glad too that they were buried in the dim recesses of the
pits and that there would be but a single antagonist, for time was
precious.

"Heard you any word of the other?" called the warrior to him.

"No," replied Turan, who had not the faintest idea to whom or what the
fellow referred.

"He cannot escape," continued the warrior. "The woman ran directly into
our arms, but she swore that she knew not where her companion might be
found."

"They took her back to O-Tar?" asked Turan, for now he knew whom the
other meant, and he would know more.

"They took her back to The Towers of Jetan," replied the warrior.
"Tomorrow the games commence and doubtless she will be played for,
though I doubt if any wants her, beautiful as she is. She fears not
even O-Tar. By Cluros! but she would make a hard slave to subdue—a
regular she-banth she is. Not for me," and he continued on his way
shaking his head.

Turan hurried on searching for an avenue that led to the level of the
streets above when suddenly he came to the open doorway of a small
chamber in which sat a man who was chained to the wall. Turan voiced a
low exclamation of surprise and pleasure as he recognized that the man
was A-Kor, and that he had stumbled by accident upon the very cell in
which he had been imprisoned. A-Kor looked at him questioningly. It was
evident that he did not recognize his fellow prisoner. Turan crossed to
the table and leaning close to the other whispered to him.

"I am Turan the panthan," he said, "who was chained beside you."

A-Kor looked at him closely. "Your own mother would never know you!" he
said; "but tell me, what has transpired since they took you away?"

Turan recounted his experiences in the throne room of O-Tar and in the
pits beneath, "and now," he continued, "I must find these Towers of
Jetan and see what may be done toward liberating the Princess of
Helium."

A-Kor shook his head. "Long was I dwar of the Towers," he said, "and I
can say to you, stranger, that you might as well attempt to reduce
Manator, single handed, as to rescue a prisoner from The Towers of
Jetan."

"But I must," replied Turan.

"Are you better than a good swordsman?" asked A-Kor presently.

"I am accounted so," replied Turan.

"Then there is a way—sst!" he was suddenly silent and pointing toward
the base of the wall at the end of the room.

Turan looked in the direction the other's forefinger indicated, to see
projecting from the mouth of an ulsio's burrow two large chelae and a
pair of protruding eyes.

"Ghek!" he cried and immediately the hideous kaldane crawled out upon
the floor and approached the table. A-Kor drew back with a half-stifled
ejaculation of repulsion. "Do not fear," Turan reassured him. "It is my
friend—he whom I told you held O-Tar while Tara and I escaped."

Ghek climbed to the table top and squatted between the two warriors.
"You are safe in assuming," he said addressing A-Kor, "that Turan the
panthan has no master in all Manator where the art of sword-play is
concerned. I overheard your conversation—go on."

"You are his friend," continued A-Kor, "and so I may explain safely in
your presence the only plan I know whereby he may hope to rescue the
Princess of Helium. She is to be the stake of one of the games and it
is O-Tar's desire that she be won by slaves and common warriors, since
she repulsed him. Thus would he punish her. Not a single man, but all
who survive upon the winning side are to possess her. With money,
however, one may buy off the others before the game. That you could do,
and if your side won and you survived she would become your slave."

"But how may a stranger and a hunted fugitive accomplish this?" asked
Turan.

"No one will recognize you. You will go tomorrow to the keeper of the
Towers and enlist in that game for which the girl is to be the stake,
telling the keeper that you are from Manataj, the farthest city of
Manator. If he questions you, you may say that you saw her when she was
brought into the city after her capture. If you win her, you will find
thoats stabled at my palace and you will carry from me a token that
will place all that is mine at your disposal."

"But how can I buy off the others in the game without money?" asked
Turan. "I have none—not even of my own country."

A-Kor opened his pocket-pouch and drew forth a packet of Manatorian
money.

"Here is sufficient to buy them off twice over," he said, handing a
portion of it to Turan.

"But why do you do this for a stranger?" asked the panthan.

"My mother was a captive princess here," replied A-Kor. "I but do for
the Princess of Helium what my mother would have me do."

"Under the circumstances, then, Manatorian," replied Turan, "I cannot
but accept your generosity on behalf of Tara of Helium and live in hope
that some day I may do for you something in return."

"Now you must be gone," advised A-Kor. "At any minute a guard may come
and discover you here. Go directly to the Avenue of Gates, which
circles the city just within the outer wall. There you will find many
places devoted to the lodging of strangers. You will know them by the
thoat's head carved above the doors. Say that you are here from Manataj
to witness the games. Take the name of U-Kal—it will arouse no
suspicion, nor will you if you can avoid conversation. Early in the
morning seek the keeper of The Towers of Jetan. May the strength and
fortune of all your ancestors be with you!"

Bidding good-bye to Ghek and A-Kor, the panthan, following directions
given him by A-Kor, set out to find his way to the Avenue of Gates, nor
had he any great difficulty. On the way he met several warriors, but
beyond a nod they gave him no heed. With ease he found a lodging place
where there were many strangers from other cities of Manator. As he had
had no sleep since the previous night he threw himself among the silks
and furs of his couch to gain the rest which he must have, was he to
give the best possible account of himself in the service of Tara of
Helium the following day.

It was already morning when he awoke, and rising he paid for his
lodgings, sought a place to eat, and a short time later was on his way
toward The Towers of Jetan, which he had no difficulty in finding owing
to the great crowds that were winding along the avenues toward the
games. The new keeper of The Towers who had succeeded E-Med was too
busy to scrutinize entries closely, for in addition to the many
volunteer players there were scores of slaves and prisoners being
forced into the games by their owners or the government. The name of
each must be recorded as well as the position he was to play and the
game or games in which he was to be entered, and then there were the
substitutes for each that was entered in more than a single game—one
for each additional game that an individual was entered for, that no
succeeding game might be delayed by the death or disablement of a
player.

"Your name?" asked a clerk as Turan presented himself.

"U-Kal," replied the panthan.

"Your city?"

"Manataj."

The keeper, who was standing beside the clerk, looked at Turan. "You
have come a great way to play at jetan," he said. "It is seldom that
the men of Manataj attend other than the decennial games. Tell me of
O-Zar! Will he attend next year? Ah, but he was a noble fighter. If you
be half the swordsman, U-Kal, the fame of Manataj will increase this
day. But tell me, what of O-Zar?"

"He is well," replied Turan, glibly, "and he sent greetings to his
friends in Manator."

"Good!" exclaimed the keeper, "and now in what game would you enter?"

"I would play for the Heliumetic princess, Tara," replied Turan.

"But man, she is to be the stake of a game for slaves and criminals,"
cried the keeper. "You would not volunteer for such a game!"

"But I would," replied Turan. "I saw her when she was brought into the
city and even then I vowed to possess her."

"But you will have to share her with the survivors even if your color
wins," objected the other.

"They may be brought to reason," insisted Turan.

"And you will chance incurring the wrath of O-Tar, who has no love for
this savage barbarian," explained the keeper.

"And I win her O-Tar will be rid of her," said Turan.

The keeper of The Towers of Jetan shook his head. "You are rash," he
said. "I would that I might dissuade the friend of my friend O-Zar from
such madness."

"Would you favor the friend of O-Zar?" asked Turan.

"Gladly!" exclaimed the other. "What may I do for him?"

"Make me chief of the Black and give me for my pieces all slaves from
Gathol, for I understand that those be excellent warriors," replied the
panthan.

"It is a strange request," said the keeper, "but for my friend O-Zar I
would do even more, though of course—" he hesitated—"it is customary
for one who would be chief to make some slight payment."

"Certainly," Turan hastened to assure him; "I had not forgotten that. I
was about to ask you what the customary amount is."

"For the friend of my friend it shall be nominal," replied the keeper,
naming a figure that Gahan, accustomed to the high price of wealthy
Gathol, thought ridiculously low.

"Tell me," he said, handing the money to the keeper, "when the game for
the Heliumite is to be played."

"It is the second in order of the day's games; and now if you will come
with me you may select your pieces."

Turan followed the keeper to a large court which lay between the towers
and the jetan field, where hundreds of warriors were assembled. Already
chiefs for the games of the day were selecting their pieces and
assigning them to positions, though for the principal games these
matters had been arranged for weeks before. The keeper led Turan to a
part of the courtyard where the majority of the slaves were assembled.

"Take your choice of those not assigned," said the keeper, "and when
you have your quota conduct them to the field. Your place will be
assigned you by an officer there, and there you will remain with your
pieces until the second game is called. I wish you luck, U-Kal, though
from what I have heard you will be more lucky to lose than to win the
slave from Helium."

After the fellow had departed Turan approached the slaves. "I seek the
best swordsmen for the second game," he announced. "Men from Gathol I
wish, for I have heard that these be noble fighters."

A slave rose and approached him. "It is all the same in which game we
die," he said. "I would fight for you as a panthan in the second game."

Another came. "I am not from Gathol," he said. "I am from Helium, and I
would fight for the honor of a princess of Helium."

"Good!" exclaimed Turan. "Art a swordsman of repute in Helium?"

"I was a dwar under the great Warlord, and I have fought at his side in
a score of battles from The Golden Cliffs to The Carrion Caves. My name
is Val Dor. Who knows Helium, knows my prowess."

The name was well known to Gahan, who had heard the man spoken of on
his last visit to Helium, and his mysterious disappearance discussed as
well as his renown as a fighter.

"How could I know aught of Helium?" asked Turan; "but if you be such a
fighter as you say no position could suit you better than that of
Flier. What say you?"

The man's eyes denoted sudden surprise. He looked keenly at Turan, his
eyes running quickly over the other's harness. Then he stepped quite
close so that his words might not be overheard.

"Methinks you may know more of Helium than of Manator," he whispered.

"What mean you, fellow?" demanded Turan, seeking to cudgel his brains
for the source of this man's knowledge, guess, or inspiration.

"I mean," replied Val Dor, "that you are not of Manator and that if you
wish to hide the fact it is well that you speak not to a Manatorian as
you did just speak to me of—Fliers! There be no Fliers in Manator and
no piece in their game of Jetan bearing that name. Instead they call
him who stands next to the Chief or Princess, Odwar. The piece has the
same moves and power that the Flier has in the game as played outside
Manator. Remember this then and remember, too, that if you have a
secret it be safe in the keeping of Val Dor of Helium."

Turan made no reply but turned to the task of selecting the remainder
of his pieces. Val Dor, the Heliumite, and Floran, the volunteer from
Gathol, were of great assistance to him, since one or the other of them
knew most of the slaves from whom his selection was to be made. The
pieces all chosen, Turan led them to the place beside the playing field
where they were to wait their turn, and here he passed the word around
that they were to fight for more than the stake he offered for the
princess should they win. This stake they accepted, so that Turan was
sure of possessing Tara if his side was victorious, but he knew that
these men would fight even more valorously for chivalry than for money,
nor was it difficult to enlist the interest even of the Gatholians in
the service of the princess. And now he held out the possibility of a
still further reward.

"I cannot promise you," he explained, "but I may say I have heard that
this day which makes it possible that should we win this game we may
even win your freedom!"

They leaped to their feet and crowded around him with many questions.

"It may not be spoken of aloud," he said; "but Floran and Val Dor know
and they assure me that you may all be trusted. Listen! What I would
tell you places my life in your hands, but you must know that every man
will realize that he is fighting today the greatest battle of his
life—for the honor and the freedom of Barsoom's most wondrous princess
and for his own freedom as well—for the chance to return each to his
own country and to the woman who awaits him there.

"First, then, is my secret. I am not of Manator. Like yourselves I am a
slave, though for the moment disguised as a Manatorian from Manataj. My
country and my identity must remain undisclosed for reasons that have
no bearing upon our game today. I, then, am one of you. I fight for the
same things that you will fight for.

"And now for that which I have but just learned. U-Thor, the great jed
of Manatos, quarreled with O-Tar in the palace the day before yesterday
and their warriors set upon one another. U-Thor was driven as far as
The Gate of Enemies, where he now lies encamped. At any moment the
fight may be renewed; but it is thought that U-Thor has sent to Manatos
for reinforcements. Now, men of Gathol, here is the thing that
interests you. U-Thor has recently taken to wife the Princess Haja of
Gathol, who was slave to O-Tar and whose son, A-Kor, was dwar of The
Towers of Jetan. Haja's heart is filled with loyalty for Gathol and
compassion for her sons who are here enslaved, and this latter
sentiment she has to some extent transmitted to U-Thor. Aid me,
therefore, in freeing the Princess Tara of Helium and I believe that I
can aid you and her and myself to escape the city. Bend close your
ears, slaves of O-Tar, that no cruel enemy may hear my words," and
Gahan of Gathol whispered in low tones the daring plan he had
conceived. "And now," he demanded, when he had finished, "let him who
does not dare speak now." None replied. "Is there none?"

"And it would not betray you should I cast my sword at thy feet, it had
been done ere this," said one in low tones pregnant with suppressed
feeling.

"And I!" "And I!" "And I!" chorused the others in vibrant whispers.

CHAPTER XVII

A PLAY TO THE DEATH

Clear and sweet a trumpet spoke across The Fields of Jetan. From The
High Tower its cool voice floated across the city of Manator and above
the babel of human discords rising from the crowded mass that filled
the seats of the stadium below. It called the players for the first
game, and simultaneously there fluttered to the peaks of a thousand
staffs on tower and battlement and the great wall of the stadium the
rich, gay pennons of the fighting chiefs of Manator. Thus was marked
the opening of The Jeddak's Games, the most important of the year and
second only to the Grand Decennial Games.

Gahan of Gathol watched every play with eagle eye. The match was an
unimportant one, being but to settle some petty dispute between two
chiefs, and was played with professional jetan players for points only.
No one was killed and there was but little blood spilled. It lasted
about an hour and was terminated by the chief of the losing side
deliberately permitting himself to be out-pointed, that the game might
be called a draw.

Again the trumpet sounded, this time announcing the second and last
game of the afternoon. While this was not considered an important
match, those being reserved for the fourth and fifth days of the games,
it promised to afford sufficient excitement since it was a game to the
death. The vital difference between the game played with living men and
that in which inanimate pieces are used, lies in the fact that while in
the latter the mere placing of a piece upon a square occupied by an
opponent piece terminates the move, in the former the two pieces thus
brought together engage in a duel for possession of the square.
Therefore there enters into the former game not only the strategy of
jetan but the personal prowess and bravery of each individual piece, so
that a knowledge not only of one's own men but of each player upon the
opposing side is of vast value to a chief.

In this respect was Gahan handicapped, though the loyalty of his
players did much to offset his ignorance of them, since they aided him
in arranging the board to the best advantage and told him honestly the
faults and virtues of each. One fought best in a losing game; another
was too slow; another too impetuous; this one had fire and a heart of
steel, but lacked endurance. Of the opponents, though, they knew little
or nothing, and now as the two sides took their places upon the black
and orange squares of the great jetan board Gahan obtained, for the
first time, a close view of those who opposed him. The Orange Chief had
not yet entered the field, but his men were all in place. Val Dor
turned to Gahan. "They are all criminals from the pits of Manator," he
said. "There is no slave among them. We shall not have to fight against
a single fellow-countryman and every life we take will be the life of
an enemy."

"It is well," replied Gahan; "but where is their Chief, and where the
two Princesses?"

"They are coming now, see?" and he pointed across the field to where
two women could be seen approaching under guard.

As they came nearer Gahan saw that one was indeed Tara of Helium, but
the other he did not recognize, and then they were brought to the
center of the field midway between the two sides and there waited until
the Orange Chief arrived.

Floran voiced an exclamation of surprise when he recognized him. "By my
first ancestor if it is not one of their great chiefs," he said, "and
we were told that slaves and criminals were to play for the stake of
this game."

His words were interrupted by the keeper of The Towers whose duty it
was not only to announce the games and the stakes, but to act as
referee as well.

"Of this, the second game of the first day of the Jeddak's Games in the
four hundred and thirty-third year of O-Tar, Jeddak of Manator, the
Princesses of each side shall be the sole stakes and to the survivors
of the winning side shall belong both the Princesses, to do with as
they shall see fit. The Orange Princess is the slave woman Lan-O of
Gathol; the Black Princess is the slave woman Tara, a princess of
Helium. The Black Chief is U-Kal of Manataj, a volunteer player; the
Orange Chief is the dwar U-Dor of the 8th Utan of the jeddak of
Manator, also a volunteer player. The squares shall be contested to the
death. Just are the laws of Manator! I have spoken."

The initial move was won by U-Dor, following which the two Chiefs
escorted their respective Princesses to the square each was to occupy.
It was the first time Gahan had been alone with Tara since she had been
brought upon the field. He saw her scrutinizing him closely as he
approached to lead her to her place and wondered if she recognized him:
but if she did she gave no sign of it. He could not but remember her
last words—"I hate you!" and her desertion of him when he had been
locked in the room beneath the palace by I-Gos, the taxidermist, and so
he did not seek to enlighten her as to his identity. He meant to fight
for her—to die for her, if necessary—and if he did not die to go on
fighting to the end for her love. Gahan of Gathol was not easily to be
discouraged, but he was compelled to admit that his chances of winning
the love of Tara of Helium were remote. Already had she repulsed him
twice. Once as jed of Gathol and again as Turan the panthan. Before his
love, however, came her safety and the former must be relegated to the
background until the latter had been achieved.

Passing among the players already at their stations the two took their
places upon their respective squares. At Tara's left was the Black
Chief, Gahan of Gathol; directly in front of her the Princess' Panthan,
Floran of Gathol; and at her right the Princess' Odwar, Val Dor of
Helium. And each of these knew the part that he was to play, win or
lose, as did each of the other Black players. As Tara took her place
Val Dor bowed low. "My sword is at your feet, Tara of Helium," he said.

She turned and looked at him, an expression of surprise and incredulity
upon her face. "Val Dor, the dwar!" she exclaimed. "Val Dor of
Helium—one of my father's trusted captains! Can it be possible that my
eyes speak the truth?"

"It is Val Dor, Princess," the warrior replied, "and here to die for
you if need be, as is every wearer of the Black upon this field of
jetan today. Know Princess," he whispered, "that upon this side is no
man of Manator, but each and every is an enemy of Manator."

She cast a quick, meaning glance toward Gahan. "But what of him?" she
whispered, and then she caught her breath quickly in surprise. "Shade
of the first jeddak!" she exclaimed. "I did but just recognize him
through his disguise."

"And you trust him?" asked Val Dor. "I know him not; but he spoke
fairly, as an honorable warrior, and we have taken him at his word."

"You have made no mistake," replied Tara of Helium. "I would trust him
with my life—with my soul; and you, too, may trust him."

Happy indeed would have been Gahan of Gathol could he have heard those
words; but Fate, who is usually unkind to the lover in such matters,
ordained it otherwise, and then the game was on.

U-Dor moved his Princess' Odwar three squares diagonally to the right,
which placed the piece upon the Black Chief's Odwar's seventh. The move
was indicative of the game that U-Dor intended playing—a game of
blood, rather than of science—and evidenced his contempt for his
opponents.

Gahan followed with his Odwar's Panthan one square straight forward, a
more scientific move, which opened up an avenue for himself through his
line of Panthans, as well as announcing to the players and spectators
that he intended having a hand in the fighting himself even before the
exigencies of the game forced it upon him. The move elicited a ripple
of applause from those sections of seats reserved for the common
warriors and their women, showing perhaps that U-Dor was none too
popular with these, and, too, it had its effect upon the morale of
Gahan's pieces. A Chief may, and often does, play almost an entire game
without leaving his own square, where, mounted upon a thoat, he may
overlook the entire field and direct each move, nor may he be
reproached for lack of courage should he elect thus to play the game
since, by the rules, were he to be slain or so badly wounded as to be
compelled to withdraw, a game that might otherwise have been won by the
science of his play and the prowess of his men would be drawn. To
invite personal combat, therefore, denotes confidence in his own
swordsmanship, and great courage, two attributes that were calculated
to fill the Black players with hope and valor when evinced by their
Chief thus early in the game.

Another move and the game would be lost to Gahan unless the Orange
Odwar was overthrown, or Tara moved to a position of safety; but to
move his Princess now would be to admit his belief in the superiority
of the Orange. In the three squares allowed him he could not place
himself squarely upon the square occupied by the Odwar of U-Dor's
Princess. There was only one player upon the Black side that might
dispute the square with the enemy and that was the Chief's Odwar, who
stood upon Gahan's left. Gahan turned upon his thoat and looked at the
man. He was a splendid looking fellow, resplendent in the gorgeous
trappings of an Odwar, the five brilliant feathers which denoted his
position rising defiantly erect from his thick, black hair. In common
with every player upon the field and every spectator in the crowded
stands he knew what was passing in his Chief's mind. He dared not
speak, the ethics of the game forbade it, but what his lips might not
voice his eyes expressed in martial fire, and eloquently: "The honor of
the Black and the safety of our Princess are secure with me!"

Gahan hesitated no longer. "Chief's Odwar to Princess' Odwar's fourth!"
he commanded. It was the courageous move of a leader who had taken up
the gauntlet thrown down by his opponent.

The warrior sprang forward and leaped into the square occupied by
U-Dor's piece. It was the first disputed square of the game. The eyes
of the players were fastened upon the contestants, the spectators
leaned forward in their seats after the first applause that had greeted
the move, and silence fell upon the vast assemblage. If the Black went
down to defeat, U-Dor could move his victorious piece on to the square
occupied by Tara of Helium and the game would be over—over in four
moves and lost to Gahan of Gathol. If the Orange lost U-Dor would have
sacrificed one of his most important pieces and more than lost what
advantage the first move might have given him.

Physically the two men appeared perfectly matched and each was fighting
for his life, but from the first it was apparent that the Black Odwar
was the better swordsman, and Gahan knew that he had another and
perhaps a greater advantage over his antagonist. The latter was
fighting for his life only, without the spur of chivalry or loyalty.
The Black Odwar had these to strengthen his arm, and besides these the
knowledge of the thing that Gahan had whispered into the ears of his
players before the game, and so he fought for what is more than life to
the man of honor.

It was a duel that held those who witnessed it in spellbound silence.
The weaving blades gleamed in the brilliant sunlight, ringing to the
parries of cut and thrust. The barbaric harness of the duelists lent
splendid color to the savage, martial scene. The Orange Odwar, forced
upon the defensive, was fighting madly for his life. The Black, with
cool and terrible efficiency, was forcing him steadily, step by step,
into a corner of the square—a position from which there could be no
escape. To abandon the square was to lose it to his opponent and win
for himself ignoble and immediate death before the jeering populace.
Spurred on by the seeming hopelessness of his plight, the Orange Odwar
burst into a sudden fury of offense that forced the Black back a half
dozen steps, and then the sword of U-Dor's piece leaped in and drew
first blood, from the shoulder of his merciless opponent. An
ill-smothered cry of encouragement went up from U-Dor's men; the Orange
Odwar, encouraged by his single success, sought to bear down the Black
by the rapidity of his attack. There was a moment in which the swords
moved with a rapidity that no man's eye might follow, and then the
Black Odwar made a lightning parry of a vicious thrust, leaned quickly
forward into the opening he had effected, and drove his sword through
the heart of the Orange Odwar—to the hilt he drove it through the body
of the Orange Odwar.

A shout arose from the stands, for wherever may have been the favor of
the spectators, none there was who could say that it had not been a
pretty fight, or that the better man had not won. And from the Black
players came a sigh of relief as they relaxed from the tension of the
past moments.

I shall not weary you with the details of the game—only the high
features of it are necessary to your understanding of the outcome. The
fourth move after the victory of the Black Odwar found Gahan upon
U-Dor's fourth; an Orange Panthan was on the adjoining square
diagonally to his right and the only opposing piece that could engage
him other than U-Dor himself.

It had been apparent to both players and spectators for the past two
moves, that Gahan was moving straight across the field into the enemy's
country to seek personal combat with the Orange Chief—that he was
staking all upon his belief in the superiority of his own
swordsmanship, since if the two Chiefs engage, the outcome decides the
game. U-Dor could move out and engage Gahan, or he could move his
Princess' Panthan upon the square occupied by Gahan in the hope that the
former would defeat the Black Chief and thus draw the game, which is
the outcome if any other than a Chief slays the opposing Chief, or he
could move away and escape, temporarily, the necessity for personal
combat, or at least that is evidently what he had in mind as was
obvious to all who saw him scanning the board about him; and his
disappointment was apparent when he finally discovered that Gahan had
so placed himself that there was no square to which U-Dor could move
that it was not within Gahan's power to reach at his own next move.

U-Dor had placed his own Princess four squares east of Gahan when her
position had been threatened, and he had hoped to lure the Black Chief
after her and away from U-Dor; but in that he had failed. He now
discovered that he might play his own Odwar into personal combat with
Gahan; but he had already lost one Odwar and could ill spare the other.
His position was a delicate one, since he did not wish to engage Gahan
personally, while it appeared that there was little likelihood of his
being able to escape. There was just one hope and that lay in his
Princess' Panthan, so, without more deliberation he ordered the piece
onto the square occupied by the Black Chief.

The sympathies of the spectators were all with Gahan now. If he lost,
the game would be declared a draw, nor do they think better of drawn
games upon Barsoom than do Earth men. If he won, it would doubtless
mean a duel between the two Chiefs, a development for which they all
were hoping. The game already bade fair to be a short one and it would
be an angry crowd should it be decided a draw with only two men slain.
There were great, historic games on record where of the forty pieces on
the field when the game opened only three survived—the two Princesses
and the victorious Chief.

They blamed U-Dor, though in fact he was well within his rights in
directing his play as he saw fit, nor was a refusal on his part to
engage the Black Chief necessarily an imputation of cowardice. He was a
great chief who had conceived a notion to possess the slave Tara. There
was no honor that could accrue to him from engaging in combat with
slaves and criminals, or an unknown warrior from Manataj, nor was the
stake of sufficient import to warrant the risk.

But now the duel between Gahan and the Orange Panthan was on and the
decision of the next move was no longer in other hands than theirs. It
was the first time that these Manatorians had seen Gahan of Gathol
fight, but Tara of Helium knew that he was master of his sword. Could
he have seen the proud light in her eyes as he crossed blades with the
wearer of the Orange, he might easily have wondered if they were the
same eyes that had flashed fire and hatred at him that time he had
covered her lips with mad kisses, in the pits of the palace of O-Tar.
As she watched him she could not but compare his swordplay with that of
the greatest swordsman of two worlds—her father, John Carter, of
Virginia, a Prince of Helium, Warlord of Barsoom—and she knew that the
skill of the Black Chief suffered little by the comparison.

Short and to the point was the duel that decided possession of the
Orange Chief's fourth. The spectators had settled themselves for an
interesting engagement of at least average duration when they were
brought almost standing by a brilliant flash of rapid swordplay that
was over ere one could catch his breath. They saw the Black Chief step
quickly back, his point upon the ground, while his opponent, his sword
slipping from his fingers, clutched his breast, sank to his knees and
then lunged forward upon his face.

And then Gahan of Gathol turned his eyes directly upon U-Dor of
Manator, three squares away. Three squares is a Chief's move—three
squares in any direction or combination of directions, only provided
that he does not cross the same square twice in a given move. The
people saw and guessed Gahan's intention. They rose and roared forth
their approval as he moved deliberately across the intervening squares
toward the Orange Chief.

O-Tar, in the royal enclosure, sat frowning upon the scene. O-Tar was
angry. He was angry with U-Dor for having entered this game for
possession of a slave, for whom it had been his wish only slaves and
criminals should strive. He was angry with the warrior from Manataj for
having so far out-generaled and out-fought the men from Manator. He was
angry with the populace because of their open hostility toward one who
had basked in the sunshine of his favor for long years. O-Tar the
jeddak had not enjoyed the afternoon. Those who surrounded him were
equally glum—they, too, scowled upon the field, the players, and the
people. Among them was a bent and wrinkled old man who gazed through
weak and watery eyes upon the field and the players.

As Gahan entered his square, U-Dor leaped toward him with drawn sword
with such fury as might have overborne a less skilled and powerful
swordsman. For a minute the fighting was fast and furious and by
comparison reducing to insignificance all that had gone before. Here
indeed were two magnificent swordsmen, and here was to be a battle that
bade fair to make up for whatever the people felt they had been
defrauded of by the shortness of the game. Nor had it continued long
before many there were who would have prophesied that they were
witnessing a duel that was to become historic in the annals of jetan at
Manator. Every trick, every subterfuge, known to the art of fence these
men employed. Time and again each scored a point and brought blood to
his opponent's copper hide until both were red with gore; but neither
seemed able to administer the coup de grace.

From her position upon the opposite side of the field Tara of Helium
watched the long-drawn battle. Always it seemed to her that the Black
Chief fought upon the defensive, or when he assumed to push his
opponent, he neglected a thousand openings that her practiced eye
beheld. Never did he seem in real danger, nor never did he appear to
exert himself to quite the pitch needful for victory. The duel already
had been long contested and the day was drawing to a close. Presently
the sudden transition from daylight to darkness which, owing to the
tenuity of the air upon Barsoom, occurs almost without the warning
twilight of Earth, would occur. Would the fight never end? Would the
game be called a draw after all? What ailed the Black Chief?

Tara wished that she might answer at least the last of these questions
for she was sure that Turan the panthan, as she knew him, while
fighting brilliantly, was not giving of himself all that he might. She
could not believe that fear was restraining his hand, but that there
was something beside inability to push U-Dor more fiercely she was
confident. What it was, however, she could not guess.

Once she saw Gahan glance quickly up toward the sinking sun. In thirty
minutes it would be dark. And then she saw and all those others saw a
strange transition steal over the swordplay of the Black Chief. It was
as though he had been playing with the great dwar, U-Dor, all these
hours, and now he still played with him but there was a difference. He
played with him terribly as a carnivore plays with its victim in the
instant before the kill. The Orange Chief was helpless now in the hands
of a swordsman so superior that there could be no comparison, and the
people sat in open-mouthed wonder and awe as Gahan of Gathol cut his
foe to ribbons and then struck him down with a blow that cleft him to
the chin.

In twenty minutes the sun would set. But what of that?

CHAPTER XVIII

A TASK FOR LOYALTY

Long and loud was the applause that rose above the Field of Jetan at
Manator, as The Keeper of the Towers summoned the two Princesses and
the victorious Chief to the center of the field and presented to the
latter the fruits of his prowess, and then, as custom demanded, the
victorious players, headed by Gahan and the two Princesses, formed in
procession behind The Keeper of the Towers and were conducted to the
place of victory before the royal enclosure that they might receive the
commendation of the jeddak. Those who were mounted gave up their thoats
to slaves as all must be on foot for this ceremony. Directly beneath
the royal enclosure are the gates to one of the tunnels that, passing
beneath the seats, give ingress or egress to or from the Field. Before
this gate the party halted while O-Tar looked down upon them from
above. Val Dor and Floran, passing quietly ahead of the others, went
directly to the gates, where they were hidden from those who occupied
the enclosure with O-Tar. The Keeper of the Towers may have noticed
them, but so occupied was he with the formality of presenting the
victorious Chief to the jeddak that he paid no attention to them.

"I bring you, O-Tar, Jeddak of Manator, U-Kal of Manataj," he cried in
a loud voice that might be heard by as many as possible, "victor over
the Orange in the second of the Jeddak's Games of the four hundred and
thirty-third year of O-Tar, and the slave woman Tara and the slave
woman Lan-O that you may bestow these, the stakes, upon U-Kal."

As he spoke, a little, wrinkled, old man peered over the rail of the
enclosure down upon the three who stood directly behind The Keeper, and
strained his weak and watery eyes in an effort to satisfy the curiosity
of old age in a matter of no particular import, for what were two
slaves and a common warrior from Manataj to any who sat with O-Tar the
jeddak?

"U-Kal of Manataj," said O-Tar, "you have deserved the stakes. Seldom
have we looked upon more noble swordplay. And you tire of Manataj there
be always here in the city of Manator a place for you in The Jeddak's
Guard."

While the jeddak was speaking the little, old man, failing clearly to
discern the features of the Black Chief, reached into his pocket-pouch
and drew forth a pair of thick-lensed spectacles, which he placed upon
his nose. For a moment he scrutinized Gahan closely, then he leaped to
his feet and addressing O-Tar pointed a shaking finger at Gahan. As he
rose Tara of Helium clutched the Black Chief's arm.

"Turan!" she whispered. "It is I-Gos, whom I thought to have slain in
the pits of O-Tar. It is I-Gos and he recognizes you and will—"

But what I-Gos would do was already transpiring. In his falsetto voice
he fairly screamed: "It is the slave Turan who stole the woman Tara
from your throne room, O-Tar. He desecrated the dead chief I-Mal and
wears his harness now!"

Instantly all was pandemonium. Warriors drew their swords and leaped to
their feet. Gahan's victorious players rushed forward in a body,
sweeping The Keeper of the Towers from his feet. Val Dor and Floran
threw open the gates beneath the royal enclosure, opening the tunnel
that led to the avenue in the city beyond the Towers. Gahan, surrounded
by his men, drew Tara and Lan-O into the passageway, and at a rapid
pace the party sought to reach the opposite end of the tunnel before
their escape could be cut off. They were successful and when they
emerged into the city the sun had set and darkness had come, relieved
only by an antiquated and ineffective lighting system, which cast but a
pale glow over the shadowy streets.

Now it was that Tara of Helium guessed why the Black Chief had drawn
out his duel with U-Dor and realized that he might have slain his man
at almost any moment he had elected. The whole plan that Gahan had
whispered to his players before the game was thoroughly understood.
They were to make their way to The Gate of Enemies and there offer
their services to U-Thor, the great Jed of Manatos. The fact that most
of them were Gatholians and that Gahan could lead rescuers to the pit
where A-Kor, the son of U-Thor's wife, was confined, convinced the Jed
of Gathol that they would meet with no rebuff at the hands of U-Thor.
But even should he refuse them, still were they bound together to go on
toward freedom, if necessary cutting their way through the forces of
U-Thor at The Gate of Enemies—twenty men against a small army; but of
such stuff are the warriors of Barsoom.

They had covered a considerable distance along the almost deserted
avenue before signs of pursuit developed and then there came upon them
suddenly from behind a dozen warriors mounted on thoats—a detachment,
evidently, from The Jeddak's Guard. Instantly the avenue was a
pandemonium of clashing blades, cursing warriors, and squealing thoats.
In the first onslaught life blood was spilled upon both sides. Two of
Gahan's men went down, and upon the enemies' side three riderless
thoats attested at least a portion of their casualties.

Gahan was engaged with a fellow who appeared to have been selected to
account for him only, since he rode straight for him and sought to cut
him down without giving the slightest heed to several who slashed at
him as he passed them. The Gatholian, practiced in the art of combating
a mounted warrior from the ground, sought to reach the left side of the
fellow's thoat a little to the rider's rear, the only position in which
he would have any advantage over his antagonist, or rather the position
that would most greatly reduce the advantage of the mounted man, and,
similarly, the Manatorian strove to thwart his design. And so the
guardsman wheeled and turned his vicious, angry mount while Gahan
leaped in and out in an effort to reach the coveted vantage point, but
always seeking some other opening in his foe's defense.

And while they jockeyed for position a rider swept swiftly past them.
As he passed behind Gahan the latter heard a cry of alarm.

"Turan, they have me!" came to his ears in the voice of Tara of Helium.

A quick glance across his shoulder showed him the galloping thoatman in
the act of dragging Tara to the withers of the beast, and then, with
the fury of a demon, Gahan of Gathol leaped for his own man, dragged
him from his mount and as he fell smote his head from his shoulders
with a single cut of his keen sword. Scarce had the body touched the
pavement when the Gatholian was upon the back of the dead warrior's
mount, and galloping swiftly down the avenue after the diminishing
figures of Tara and her abductor, the sounds of the fight waning in the
distance as he pursued his quarry along the avenue that passes the
palace of O-Tar and leads to The Gate of Enemies.

Gahan's mount, carrying but a single rider, gained upon that of the
Manatorian, so that as they neared the palace Gahan was scarce a
hundred yards behind, and now, to his consternation, he saw the fellow
turn into the great entrance-way. For a moment only was he halted by
the guards and then he disappeared within. Gahan was almost upon him
then, but evidently he had warned the guards, for they leaped out to
intercept the Gatholian. But no! the fellow could not have known that
he was pursued, since he had not seen Gahan seize a mount, nor would he
have thought that pursuit would come so soon. If he had passed then, so
could Gahan pass, for did he not wear the trappings of a Manatorian?
The Gatholian thought quickly, and stopping his thoat called to the
guardsmen to let him pass, "In the name of O-Tar!" They hesitated a
moment.

"Aside!" cried Gahan. "Must the jeddak's messenger parley for the right
to deliver his message?"

"To whom would you deliver it?" asked the padwar of the guard.

"Saw you not him who just entered?" cried Gahan, and without waiting
for a reply urged his thoat straight past them into the palace, and
while they were deliberating what was best to be done, it was too late
to do anything—which is not unusual.

Along the marble corridors Gahan guided his thoat, and because he had
gone that way before, rather than because he knew which way Tara had
been taken, he followed the runways and passed through the chambers
that led to the throne room of O-Tar. On the second level he met a
slave.

"Which way went he who carried the woman before him?" he asked.

The slave pointed toward a nearby runway that led to the third level
and Gahan dashed rapidly on in pursuit. At the same moment a thoatman,
riding at a furious pace, approached the palace and halted his mount at
the gate.

"Saw you aught of a warrior pursuing one who carried a woman before him
on his thoat?" he shouted to the guard.

"He but just passed in," replied the padwar, "saying that he was
O-Tar's messenger."

"He lied," cried the newcomer. "He was Turan, the slave, who stole the
woman from the throne room two days since. Arouse the palace! He must
be seized, and alive if possible. It is O-Tar's command."

Instantly warriors were dispatched to search for the Gatholian and warn
the inmates of the palace to do likewise. Owing to the games there were
comparatively few retainers in the great building, but those whom they
found were immediately enlisted in the search, so that presently at
least fifty warriors were seeking through the countless chambers and
corridors of the palace of O-Tar.

As Gahan's thoat bore him to the third Level the man glimpsed the hind
quarters of another thoat disappearing at the turn of a corridor far
ahead. Urging his own animal forward he raced swiftly in pursuit and
making the turn discovered only an empty corridor ahead. Along this he
hurried to discover near its farther end a runway to the fourth level,
which he followed upward. Here he saw that he had gained upon his
quarry who was just turning through a doorway fifty yards ahead. As
Gahan reached the opening he saw that the warrior had dismounted and
was dragging Tara toward a small door on the opposite side of the
chamber. At the same instant the clank of harness to his rear caused
him to cast a glance behind where, along the corridor he had just
traversed, he saw three warriors approaching on foot at a run. Leaping
from his thoat Gahan sprang into the chamber where Tara was struggling
to free herself from the grasp of her captor, slammed the door behind
him, shot the great bolt into its seat, and drawing his sword crossed
the room at a run to engage the Manatorian. The fellow, thus menaced,
called aloud to Gahan to halt, at the same time thrusting Tara at arm's
length and threatening her heart with the point of his short-sword.

"Stay!" he cried, "or the woman dies, for such is the command of O-Tar,
rather than that she again fall into your hands."

Gahan stopped. But a few feet separated him from Tara and her captor,
yet he was helpless to aid her. Slowly the warrior backed toward the
open doorway behind him, dragging Tara with him. The girl struggled and
fought, but the warrior was a powerful man and having seized her by the
harness from behind was able to hold her in a position of helplessness.

"Save me, Turan!" she cried. "Let them not drag me to a fate worse than
death. Better that I die now while my eyes behold a brave friend than
later, fighting alone among enemies in defense of my honor."

He took a step nearer. The warrior made a threatening gesture with his
sword close to the soft, smooth skin of the princess, and Gahan halted.

"I cannot, Tara of Helium," he cried. "Think not ill of me that I am
weak—that I cannot see you die. Too great is my love for you, daughter
of Helium."

The Manatorian warrior, a derisive grin upon his lips, backed steadily
away. He had almost reached the doorway when Gahan saw another warrior
in the chamber toward which Tara was being borne—a fellow who moved
silently, almost stealthily, across the marble floor as he approached
Tara's captor from behind. In his right hand he grasped a long-sword.

"Two to one," thought Gahan, and a grim smile touched his lips, for he
had no doubt that once they had Tara safely in the adjoining chamber
the two would set upon him. If he could not save her, he could at least
die for her.

And then, suddenly, Gahan's eyes fastened with amazement upon the
figure of the warrior behind the grinning fellow who held Tara and was
forcing her to the doorway. He saw the newcomer step almost within
arm's reach of the other. He saw him stop, an expression of malevolent
hatred upon his features. He saw the great sword swing through the arc
of a great circle, gathering swift and terrific momentum from its own
weight backed by the brawn of the steel thews that guided it; he saw it
pass through the feathered skull of the Manatorian, splitting his
sardonic grin in twain, and open him to the middle of his breast bone.

As the dead hand relaxed its grasp upon Tara's wrist the girl leaped
forward, without a backward glance, to Gahan's side. His left arm
encircled her, nor did she draw away, as with ready sword the Gatholian
awaited Fate's next decree. Before them Tara's deliverer was wiping the
blood from his sword upon the hair of his victim. He was evidently a
Manatorian, his trappings those of the Jeddak's Guard, and so his act
was inexplicable to Gahan and to Tara. Presently he sheathed his sword
and approached them.

"When a man chooses to hide his identity behind an assumed name," he
said, looking straight into Gahan's eyes, "whatever friend pierces the
deception were no friend if he divulged the other's secret."

He paused as though awaiting a reply.

"Your integrity has perceived and your lips voiced an unalterable
truth," replied Gahan, whose mind was filled with wonder if the
implication could by any possibility be true—that this Manatorian had
guessed his identity.

"We are thus agreed," continued the other, "and I may tell you that
though I am here known as A-Sor, my real name is Tasor." He paused and
watched Gahan's face intently for any sign of the effect of this
knowledge and was rewarded with a quick, though guarded expression of
recognition.

Tasor! Friend of his youth. The son of that great Gatholian noble who
had given his life so gloriously, however futilely, in an attempt to
defend Gahan's sire from the daggers of the assassins. Tasor an
under-padwar in the guard of O-Tar, Jeddak of Manator! It was
inconceivable—and yet it was he; there could be no doubt of it.
"Tasor," Gahan repeated aloud. "But it is no Manatorian name." The
statement was half interrogatory, for Gahan's curiosity was aroused. He
would know how his friend and loyal subject had become a Manatorian.
Long years had passed since Tasor had disappeared as mysteriously as
the Princess Haja and many other of Gahan's subjects. The Jed of Gathol
had long supposed him dead.

"No," replied Tasor, "nor is it a Manatorian name. Come, while I search
for a hiding place for you in some forgotten chamber in one of the
untenanted portions of the palace, and as we go I will tell you briefly
how Tasor the Gatholian became A-Sor the Manatorian.

"It befell that as I rode with a dozen of my warriors along the western
border of Gathol searching for zitidars that had strayed from my herds,
we were set upon and surrounded by a great company of Manatorians. They
overpowered us, though not before half our number was slain and the
balance helpless from wounds. And so I was brought a prisoner to
Manataj, a distant city of Manator, and there sold into slavery. A
woman bought me—a princess of Manataj whose wealth and position were
unequaled in the city of her birth. She loved me and when her husband
discovered her infatuation she beseeched me to slay him, and when I
refused she hired another to do it. Then she married me; but none would
have aught to do with her in Manataj, for they suspected her guilty
knowledge of her husband's murder. And so we set out from Manataj for
Manatos accompanied by a great caravan bearing all her worldly goods
and jewels and precious metals, and on the way she caused the rumor to
be spread that she and I had died. Then we came to Manator instead, she
taking a new name and I the name A-Sor, that we might not be traced
through our names. With her great wealth she bought me a post in The
Jeddak's Guard and none knows that I am not a Manatorian, for she is
dead. She was beautiful, but she was a devil."

"And you never sought to return to your native city?" asked Gahan.

"Never has the hope been absent from my heart, or my mind empty of a
plan," replied Tasor. "I dream of it by day and by night, but always
must I return to the same conclusion—that there can be but a single
means for escape. I must wait until Fortune favors me with a place in a
raiding party to Gathol. Then, once within the boundaries of my own
country, they shall see me no more."

"Perhaps your opportunity lies already within your grasp," said Gahan,
"has not your fealty to your own Jed been undermined by years of
association with the men of Manator." The statement was half challenge.

"And my Jed stood before me now," cried Tasor, "and my avowal could be
made without violating his confidence, I should cast my sword at his
feet and beg the high privilege of dying for him as my sire died for
his sire."

There could be no doubt of his sincerity nor any that he was cognizant
of Gahan's identity. The Jed of Gathol smiled. "And if your Jed were
here there is little doubt but that he would command you to devote your
talents and your prowess to the rescue of the Princess Tara of Helium,"
he said, meaningly. "And he possessed the knowledge I have gained
during my captivity he would say to you, 'Go, Tasor, to the pit where
A-kor, son of Haja of Gathol, is confined and set him free and with him
arouse the slaves from Gathol and march to The Gate of Enemies and
offer your services to U-Thor of Manataj, who is wed to Haja of Gathol,
and ask of him in return that he attack the palace of O-Tar and rescue
Tara of Helium and when that thing is accomplished that he free the
slaves of Gathol and furnish them with the arms and the means to return
to their own country.' That, Tasor of Gathol, is what Gahan your Jed
would demand of you."

"And that, Turan the slave, is what I shall bend my every effort to
accomplish after I have found a safe refuge for Tara of Helium and her
panthan," replied Tasor.

Gahan's glance carried to Tasor an intimation of his Jed's
gratification and filled him with a chivalrous determination to do the
thing required of him, or die, for he considered that he had received
from the lips of his beloved ruler a commission that placed upon his
shoulders a responsibility that encompassed not alone the life of Gahan
and Tara but the welfare, perhaps the whole future, of Gathol. And so
he hastened them onward through the musty corridors of the old palace
where the dust of ages lay undisturbed upon the marble tiles. Now and
again he tried a door until he found one that was unlocked. Opening it
he ushered them into a chamber, heavy with dust. Crumbling silks and
furs adorned the walls, with ancient weapons, and great paintings whose
colors were toned by age to wondrous softness.

"This be as good as any place," he said. "No one comes here. Never have
I been here before, so I know no more of the other chambers than you;
but this one, at least, I can find again when I bring you food and
drink. O-Mai the Cruel occupied this portion of the palace during his
reign, five thousand years before O-Tar. In one of these apartments he
was found dead, his face contorted in an expression of fear so horrible
that it drove to madness those who looked upon it; yet there was no
mark of violence upon him. Since then the quarters of O-Mai have been
shunned for the legends have it that the ghosts of Corphals pursue the
spirit of the wicked Jeddak nightly through these chambers, shrieking
and moaning as they go. But," he added, as though to reassure himself
as well as his companions, "such things may not be countenanced by the
culture of Gathol or Helium."

Gahan laughed. "And if all who looked upon him were driven mad, who
then was there to perform the last rites or prepare the body of the
Jeddak for them?"

"There was none," replied Tasor. "Where they found him they left him
and there to this very day his mouldering bones lie hid in some
forgotten chamber of this forbidden suite."

Tasor left them then assuring them that he would seek the first
opportunity to speak with A-Kor, and upon the following day he would
bring them food and drink.*

* Those who have read John Carter's description of the Green Martians
in A Princess of Mars will recall that these strange people could exist
for considerable periods of time without food or water, and to a lesser
degree is the same true of all Martians.

After Tasor had gone Tara turned to Gahan and approaching laid a hand
upon his arm. "So swiftly have events transpired since I recognized you
beneath your disguise," she said, "that I have had no opportunity to
assure you of my gratitude and the high esteem that your valor has won
for you in my consideration. Let me now acknowledge my indebtedness;
and if promises be not vain from one whose life and liberty are in
grave jeopardy, accept my assurance of the great reward that awaits you
at the hand of my father in Helium."

"I desire no reward," he replied, "other than the happiness of knowing
that the woman I love is happy."

For an instant the eyes of Tara of Helium blazed as she drew herself
haughtily to her full height, and then they softened and her attitude
relaxed as she shook her head sadly.

"I have it not in my heart to reprimand you, Turan," she said, "however
great your fault, for you have been an honorable and a loyal friend to
Tara of Helium; but you must not say what my ears must not hear."

"You mean," he asked, "that the ears of a Princess must not listen to
words of love from a panthan?"

"It is not that, Turan," she replied; "but rather that I may not in
honor listen to words of love from another than him to whom I am
betrothed—a fellow countryman, Djor Kantos."

"You mean, Tara of Helium," he cried, "that were it not for that you
would—"

"Stop!" she commanded. "You have no right to assume aught else than my
lips testify."

"The eyes are ofttimes more eloquent than the lips, Tara," he replied;
"and in yours I have read that which is neither hatred nor contempt for
Turan the panthan, and my heart tells me that your lips bore false
witness when they cried in anger: 'I hate you!'"

"I do not hate you, Turan, nor yet may I love you," said the girl,
simply.

"When I broke my way out from the chamber of I-Gos I was indeed upon
the verge of believing that you did hate me," he said, "for only
hatred, it seemed to me, could account for the fact that you had gone
without making an effort to liberate me; but presently both my heart
and my judgment told me that Tara of Helium could not have deserted a
companion in distress, and though I still am in ignorance of the facts
I know that it was beyond your power to aid me."

"It was indeed," said the girl. "Scarce had I-Gos fallen at the bite of
my dagger than I heard the approach of warriors. I ran then to hide
until they had passed, thinking to return and liberate you; but in
seeking to elude the party I had heard I ran full into the arms of
another. They questioned me as to your whereabouts, and I told them
that you had gone ahead and that I was following you and thus I led
them from you."

"I knew," was Gahan's only comment, but his heart was glad with
elation, as a lover's must be who has heard from the lips of his
divinity an avowal of interest and loyalty, however little tinged by a
suggestion of warmer regard it may be. To be abused, even, by the
mistress of one's heart is better than to be ignored.

As the two conversed in the ill-lit chamber, the dim bulbs of which
were encrusted with the accumulated dust of centuries, a bent and
withered figure traversed slowly the gloomy corridors without, his weak
and watery eyes peering through thick lenses at the signs of passage
written upon the dusty floor.

CHAPTER XIX

THE MENACE OF THE DEAD

The night was still young when there came one to the entrance of the
banquet hall where O-Tar of Manator dined with his chiefs, and brushing
past the guards entered the great room with the insolence of a
privileged character, as in truth he was. As he approached the head of
the long board O-Tar took notice of him.

"Well, hoary one!" he cried. "What brings you out of your beloved and
stinking burrow again this day. We thought that the sight of the
multitude of living men at the games would drive you back to your
corpses as quickly as you could go."

The cackling laugh of I-Gos acknowledged the royal sally. "Ey, ey,
O-Tar," squeaked the ancient one, "I-Gos goes out not upon pleasure
bound; but when one does ruthlessly desecrate the dead of I-Gos,
vengeance must be had!"

"You refer to the act of the slave Turan?" demanded O-Tar.

"Turan, yes, and the slave Tara, who slipped beneath my hide a
murderous blade. Another fraction of an inch, O-Tar, and I-Gos' ancient
and wrinkled covering were even now in some apprentice tanner's hands,
ey, ey!"

"But they have again eluded us," cried O-Tar. "Even in the palace of
the great jeddak twice have they escaped the stupid knaves I call The
Jeddak's Guard." O-Tar had risen and was angrily emphasizing his words
with heavy blows upon the table, dealt with a golden goblet.

"Ey, O-Tar, they elude thy guard but not the wise old calot, I-Gos."

"What mean you? Speak!" commanded O-Tar.

"I know where they are hid," said the ancient taxidermist. "In the dust
of unused corridors their feet have betrayed them."

"You followed them? You have seen them?" demanded the jeddak.

"I followed them and I heard them speaking beyond a closed door,"
replied I-Gos; "but I did not see them."

"Where is that door?" cried O-Tar. "We will send at once and fetch
them," he looked about the table as though to decide to whom he would
entrust this duty. A dozen warrior chiefs arose and laid their hands
upon their swords.

"To the chambers of O-Mai the Cruel I traced them," squeaked I-Gos.
"There you will find them where the moaning Corphals pursue the
shrieking ghost of O-Mai; ey!" and he turned his eyes from O-Tar toward
the warriors who had arisen, only to discover that, to a man, they were
hurriedly resuming their seats.

The cackling laughter of I-Gos broke derisively the hush that had
fallen on the room. The warriors looked sheepishly at the food upon
their plates of gold. O-Tar snapped his fingers impatiently.

"Be there only cravens among the chiefs of Manator?" he cried.
"Repeatedly have these presumptuous slaves flouted the majesty of your
jeddak. Must I command one to go and fetch them?"

Slowly a chief arose and two others followed his example, though with
ill-concealed reluctance. "All, then, are not cowards," commented
O-Tar. "The duty is distasteful. Therefore all three of you shall go,
taking as many warriors as you wish."

"But do not ask for volunteers," interrupted I-Gos, "or you will go
alone."

The three chiefs turned and left the banquet hall, walking slowly like
doomed men to their fate.

Gahan and Tara remained in the chamber to which Tasor had led them, the
man brushing away the dust from a deep and comfortable bench where they
might rest in comparative comfort. He had found the ancient sleeping
silks and furs too far gone to be of any service, crumbling to powder
at a touch, thus removing any chance of making a comfortable bed for
the girl, and so the two sat together, talking in low tones, of the
adventures through which they already had passed and speculating upon
the future; planning means of escape and hoping Tasor would not be long
gone. They spoke of many things—of Hastor, and Helium, and Ptarth, and
finally the conversation reminded Tara of Gathol.

"You have served there?" she asked.

"Yes," replied Turan.

"I met Gahan the Jed of Gathol at my father's palace," she said, "the
very day before the storm snatched me from Helium—he was a
presumptuous fellow, magnificently trapped in platinum and diamonds.
Never in my life saw I so gorgeous a harness as his, and you must well
know, Turan, that the splendor of all Barsoom passes through the court
at Helium; but in my mind I could not see so resplendent a creature
drawing that jeweled sword in mortal combat. I fear me that the Jed of
Gathol, though a pretty picture of a man, is little else."

In the dim light Tara did not perceive the wry expression upon the
half-averted face of her companion.

"You thought little then of the Jed of Gathol?" he asked.

"Then or now," she replied, and with a little laugh; "how it would
pique his vanity to know, if he might, that a poor panthan had won a
higher place in the regard of Tara of Helium," and she laid her fingers
gently upon his knee.

He seized the fingers in his and carried them to his lips. "O, Tara of
Helium," he cried. "Think you that I am a man of stone?" One arm
slipped about her shoulders and drew the yielding body toward him.

"May my first ancestor forgive me my weakness," she cried, as her arms
stole about his neck and she raised her panting lips to his. For long
they clung there in love's first kiss and then she pushed him away,
gently. "I love you, Turan," she half sobbed; "I love you so! It is my
only poor excuse for having done this wrong to Djor Kantos, whom now I
know I never loved, who knew not the meaning of love. And if you love
me as you say, Turan, your love must protect me from greater dishonor,
for I am but as clay in your hands."

Again he crushed her to him and then as suddenly released her, and
rising, strode rapidly to and fro across the chamber as though he
endeavored by violent exercise to master and subdue some evil spirit
that had laid hold upon him. Ringing through his brain and heart and
soul like some joyous paean were those words that had so altered the
world for Gahan of Gathol: "I love you, Turan; I love you so!" And it
had come so suddenly. He had thought that she felt for him only
gratitude for his loyalty and then, in an instant, her barriers were
all down, she was no longer a princess; but instead a—his reflections
were interrupted by a sound from beyond the closed door. His sandals of
zitidar hide had given forth no sound upon the marble floor he strode,
and as his rapid pacing carried him past the entrance to the chamber
there came faintly from the distance of the long corridor the sound of
metal on metal—the unmistakable herald of the approach of armed men.

For a moment Gahan listened intently, close to the door, until there
could be no doubt but that a party of warriors was approaching. From
what Tasor had told him he guessed correctly that they would be coming
to this portion of the palace but for a single purpose—to search for
Tara and himself—and it behooved him therefore to seek immediate means
for eluding them. The chamber in which they were had other doorways
beside that at which they had entered, and to one of these he must look
for some safer hiding place. Crossing to Tara he acquainted her with
his suspicion, leading her to one of the doors which they found
unsecured. Beyond it lay a dimly-lighted chamber at the threshold of
which they halted in consternation, drawing back quickly into the
chamber they had just quitted, for their first glance revealed four
warriors seated around a jetan board.

That their entrance had not been noted was attributed by Gahan to the
absorption of the two players and their friends in the game. Quietly
closing the door the fugitives moved silently to the next, which they
found locked. There was now but another door which they had not tried,
and this they approached quickly as they knew that the searching party
must be close to the chamber. To their chagrin they found this avenue
of escape barred.

Now indeed were they in a sorry plight, for should the searchers have
information leading them to this room they were lost. Again leading
Tara to the door behind which were the jetan players Gahan drew his
sword and waited, listening. The sound of the party in the corridor
came distinctly to their ears—they must be quite close, and doubtless
they were coming in force. Beyond the door were but four warriors who
might be readily surprised. There could, then, be but one choice and
acting upon it Gahan quietly opened the door again, stepped through
into the adjoining chamber, Tara's hand in his, and closed the door
behind them. The four at the jetan board evidently failed to hear them.
One player had either just made or was contemplating a move, for his
fingers grasped a piece that still rested upon the board. The other
three were watching his move. For an instant Gahan looked at them,
playing jetan there in the dim light of this forgotten and forbidden
chamber, and then a slow smile of understanding lighted his face.

"Come!" he said to Tara. "We have nothing to fear from these. For more
than five thousand years they have sat thus, a monument to the
handiwork of some ancient taxidermist."

As they approached more closely they saw that the lifelike figures were
coated with dust, but that otherwise the skin was in as fine a state of
preservation as the most recent of I-Gos' groups, and then they heard
the door of the chamber they had quitted open and knew that the
searchers were close upon them. Across the room they saw the opening of
what appeared to be a corridor and which investigation proved to be a
short passageway, terminating in a chamber in the center of which was
an ornate sleeping dais. This room, like the others, was but poorly
lighted, time having dimmed the radiance of its bulbs and coated them
with dust. A glance showed that it was hung with heavy goods and
contained considerable massive furniture in addition to the sleeping
platform, a second glance at which revealed what appeared to be the
form of a man lying partially on the floor and partially on the dais.
No doorways were visible other than that at which they had entered,
though both knew that others might be concealed by the hangings.

Gahan, his curiosity aroused by the legends surrounding this portion of
the palace, crossed to the dais to examine the figure that apparently
had fallen from it, to find the dried and shrivelled corpse of a man
lying upon his back on the floor with arms outstretched and fingers
stiffly outspread. One of his feet was doubled partially beneath him,
while the other was still entangled in the sleeping silks and furs upon
the dais. After five thousand years the expression of the withered face
and the eyeless sockets retained the aspect of horrid fear to such an
extent, that Gahan knew that he was looking upon the body of O-Mai the
Cruel.

Suddenly Tara, who stood close beside him, clutched his arm and pointed
toward a far corner of the room. Gahan looked and looking felt the
hairs upon his neck rising. He threw his left arm about the girl and
with bared sword stood between her and the hangings that they watched,
and then slowly Gahan of Gathol backed away, for in this grim and
somber chamber, which no human foot had trod for five thousand years
and to which no breath of wind might enter, the heavy hangings in the
far corner had moved. Not gently had they moved as a draught might have
moved them had there been a draught, but suddenly they had bulged out
as though pushed against from behind. To the opposite corner backed
Gahan until they stood with their backs against the hangings there, and
then hearing the approach of their pursuers across the chamber beyond
Gahan pushed Tara through the hangings and, following her, kept open
with his left hand, which he had disengaged from the girl's grasp, a
tiny opening through which he could view the apartment and the doorway
upon the opposite side through which the pursuers would enter, if they
came this far.

Behind the hangings there was a space of about three feet in width
between them and the wall, making a passageway entirely around the
room, broken only by the single entrance opposite them; this being a
common arrangement especially in the sleeping apartments of the rich
and powerful upon Barsoom. The purposes of this arrangement were
several. The passageway afforded a station for guards in the same room
with their master without intruding entirely upon his privacy; it
concealed secret exits from the chamber; it permitted the occupant of
the room to hide eavesdroppers and assassins for use against enemies
that he might lure to his chamber.

The three chiefs with a dozen warriors had had no difficulty in
following the tracks of the fugitives through the dust of the corridors
and chambers they had traversed. To enter this portion of the palace at
all had required all the courage they possessed, and now that they were
within the very chambers of O-Mai their nerves were pitched to the
highest key—another turn and they would snap; for the people of
Manator are filled with weird superstitions. As they entered the outer
chamber they moved slowly, with drawn swords, no one seeming anxious to
take the lead, and the twelve warriors hanging back in unconcealed and
shameless terror, while the three chiefs, spurred on by fear of O-Tar
and by pride, pressed together for mutual encouragement as they slowly
crossed the dimly-lighted room.

Following the tracks of Gahan and Tara they found that though each
doorway had been approached only one threshold had been crossed and
this door they gingerly opened, revealing to their astonished gaze the
four warriors at the jetan table. For a moment they were on the verge
of flight, for though they knew what they were, coming as they did upon
them in this mysterious and haunted suite, they were as startled as
though they had beheld the very ghosts of the departed. But they
presently regained their courage sufficiently to cross this chamber too
and enter the short passageway that led to the ancient sleeping
apartment of O-Mai the Cruel. They did not know that this awful chamber
lay just before them, or it were doubtful that they would have
proceeded farther; but they saw that those they sought had come this
way and so they followed, but within the gloomy interior of the chamber
they halted, the three chiefs urging their followers, in low whispers,
to close in behind them, and there just within the entrance they stood
until, their eyes becoming accustomed to the dim light, one of them
pointed suddenly to the thing lying upon the floor with one foot
tangled in the coverings of the dais.

"Look!" he gasped. "It is the corpse of O-Mai! Ancestor of ancestors!
we are in the forbidden chamber." Simultaneously there came from behind
the hangings beyond the grewsome dead a hollow moan followed by a
piercing scream, and the hangings shook and bellied before their eyes.

With one accord, chieftains and warriors, they turned and bolted for
the doorway; a narrow doorway, where they jammed, fighting and
screaming in an effort to escape. They threw away their swords and
clawed at one another to make a passage for escape; those behind
climbed upon the shoulders of those in front; and some fell and were
trampled upon; but at last they all got through, and, the swiftest
first, they bolted across the two intervening chambers to the outer
corridor beyond, nor did they halt their mad retreat before they
stumbled, weak and trembling, into the banquet hall of O-Tar. At sight
of them the warriors who had remained with the jeddak leaped to their
feet with drawn swords, thinking that their fellows were pursued by
many enemies; but no one followed them into the room, and the three
chieftains came and stood before O-Tar with bowed heads and trembling
knees.

"Well?" demanded the jeddak. "What ails you? Speak!"

"O-Tar," cried one of them when at last he could master his voice.
"When have we three failed you in battle or combat? Have our swords
been not always among the foremost in defense of your safety and your
honor?"

"Have I denied this?" demanded O-Tar.

"Listen, then, O Jeddak, and judge us with leniency. We followed the
two slaves to the apartments of O-Mai the Cruel. We entered the
accursed chambers and still we did not falter. We came at last to that
horrid chamber no human eye had scanned before in fifty centuries and
we looked upon the dead face of O-Mai lying as he has lain for all this
time. To the very death chamber of O-Mai the Cruel we came and yet we
were ready to go farther; when suddenly there broke upon our horrified
ears the moans and the shrieking that mark these haunted chambers and
the hangings moved and rustled in the dead air. O-Tar, it was more than
human nerves could endure. We turned and fled. We threw away our swords
and fought with one another to escape. With sorrow, but without shame,
I tell it, for there be no man in all Manator that would not have done
the same. If these slaves be Corphals they are safe among their fellow
ghosts. If they be not Corphals, then already are they dead in the
chambers of O-Mai, and there may they rot for all of me, for I would
not return to that accursed spot for the harness of a jeddak and the
half of Barsoom for an empire. I have spoken."

From among those who had not been of the searching party a chieftain
arose and turned a scowling face upon O-Tar.

"The jeddak knows," he said, "that in the annals of Manator her jeddaks
have ever been accounted the bravest of her warriors. Where my jeddak
leads I will follow, nor may any jeddak call me a coward or a craven
unless I refuse to go where he dares to go. I have spoken."

After he had resumed his seat there was a painful silence, for all knew
that the speaker had challenged the courage of O-Tar the Jeddak of
Manator and all awaited the reply of their ruler. In every mind was the
same thought—O-Tar must lead them at once to the chamber of O-Mai the
Cruel, or accept forever the stigma of cowardice, and there could be no
coward upon the throne of Manator. That they all knew and that O-Tar
knew, as well.

But O-Tar hesitated. He looked about upon the faces of those around him
at the banquet board; but he saw only the grim visages of relentless
warriors. There was no trace of leniency in the face of any. And then
his eyes wandered to a small entrance at one side of the great chamber.
An expression of relief expunged the scowl of anxiety from his features.

"Look!" he exclaimed. "See who has come!"

CHAPTER XX

THE CHARGE OF COWARDICE

Gahan, watching through the aperture between the hangings, saw the
frantic flight of their pursuers. A grim smile rested upon his lips as
he viewed the mad scramble for safety and saw them throw away their
swords and fight with one another to be first from the chamber of fear,
and when they were all gone he turned back toward Tara, the smile still
upon his lips; but the smile died the instant that he turned, for he
saw that Tara had disappeared.

"Tara!" he called in a loud voice, for he knew that there was no danger
that their pursuers would return; but there was no response, unless it
was a faint sound as of cackling laughter from afar. Hurriedly he
searched the passageway behind the hangings finding several doors, one
of which was ajar. Through this he entered the adjoining chamber which
was lighted more brilliantly for the moment by the soft rays of
hurtling Thuria taking her mad way through the heavens. Here he found
the dust upon the floor disturbed, and the imprint of sandals. They had
come this way—Tara and whatever the creature was that had stolen her.

But what could it have been? Gahan, a man of culture and high
intelligence, held few if any superstitions. In common with nearly all
races of Barsoom he clung, more or less inherently, to a certain
exalted form of ancestor worship, though it was rather the memory or
legends of the virtues and heroic deeds of his forebears that he
deified rather than themselves. He never expected any tangible evidence
of their existence after death; he did not believe that they had the
power either for good or for evil other than the effect that their
example while living might have had upon following generations; he did
not believe therefore in the materialization of dead spirits. If there
was a life hereafter he knew nothing of it, for he knew that science
had demonstrated the existence of some material cause for every
seemingly supernatural phenomenon of ancient religions and
superstitions. Yet he was at a loss to know what power might have
removed Tara so suddenly and mysteriously from his side in a chamber
that had not known the presence of man for five thousand years.

In the darkness he could not see whether there were the imprints of
other sandals than Tara's—only that the dust was disturbed—and when
it led him into gloomy corridors he lost the trail altogether. A
perfect labyrinth of passages and apartments were now revealed to him
as he hurried on through the deserted quarters of O-Mai. Here was an
ancient bath—doubtless that of the jeddak himself, and again he passed
through a room in which a meal had been laid upon a table five thousand
years before—the untasted breakfast of O-Mai, perhaps. There passed
before his eyes in the brief moments that he traversed the chambers, a
wealth of ornaments and jewels and precious metals that surprised even
the Jed of Gathol whose harness was of diamonds and platinum and whose
riches were the envy of a world. But at last his search of O-Mai's
chambers ended in a small closet in the floor of which was the opening
to a spiral runway leading straight down into Stygian darkness. The
dust at the entrance of the closet had been freshly disturbed, and as
this was the only possible indication that Gahan had of the direction
taken by the abductor of Tara it seemed as well to follow on as to
search elsewhere. So, without hesitation, he descended into the utter
darkness below. Feeling with a foot before taking a forward step his
descent was necessarily slow, but Gahan was a Barsoomian and so knew
the pitfalls that might await the unwary in such dark, forbidden
portions of a jeddak's palace.

He had descended for what he judged might be three full levels and was
pausing, as he occasionally did, to listen, when he distinctly heard a
peculiar shuffling, scraping sound approaching him from below. Whatever
the thing was it was ascending the runway at a steady pace and would
soon be near him. Gahan laid his hand upon the hilt of his sword and
drew it slowly from its scabbard that he might make no noise that would
apprise the creature of his presence. He wished that there might be
even the slightest lessening of the darkness. If he could see but the
outline of the thing that approached him he would feel that he had a
fairer chance in the meeting; but he could see nothing, and then
because he could see nothing the end of his scabbard struck the stone
side of the runway, giving off a sound that the stillness and the
narrow confines of the passage and the darkness seemed to magnify to a
terrific clatter.

Instantly the shuffling sound of approach ceased. For a moment Gahan
stood in silent waiting, then casting aside discretion he moved on
again down the spiral. The thing, whatever it might be, gave forth no
sound now by which Gahan might locate it. At any moment it might be
upon him and so he kept his sword in readiness. Down, ever downward the
steep spiral led. The darkness and the silence of the tomb surrounded
him, yet somewhere ahead was something. He was not alone in that horrid
place—another presence that he could not hear or see hovered before
him—of that he was positive. Perhaps it was the thing that had stolen
Tara. Perhaps Tara herself, still in the clutches of some nameless
horror, was just ahead of him. He quickened his pace—it became almost
a run at the thought of the danger that threatened the woman he loved,
and then he collided with a wooden door that swung open to the impact.
Before him was a lighted corridor. On either side were chambers. He had
advanced but a short distance from the bottom of the spiral when he
recognized that he was in the pits below the palace. A moment later he
heard behind him the shuffling sound that had attracted his attention
in the spiral runway. Wheeling about he saw the author of the sound
emerging from a doorway he had just passed. It was Ghek the kaldane.

"Ghek!" exclaimed Gahan. "It was you in the runway? Have you seen Tara
of Helium?"

"It was I in the spiral," replied the kaldane; "but I have not seen
Tara of Helium. I have been searching for her. Where is she?"

"I do not know," replied the Gatholian; "but we must find her and take
her from this place."

"We may find her," said Ghek; "but I doubt our ability to take her
away. It is not so easy to leave Manator as it is to enter it. I may
come and go at will, through the ancient burrows of the ulsios; but you
are too large for that and your lungs need more air than may be found
in some of the deeper runways."

"But U-Thor!" exclaimed Gahan. "Have you heard aught of him or his
intentions?"

"I have heard much," replied Ghek. "He camps at The Gate of Enemies.
That spot he holds and his warriors lie just beyond The Gate; but he
has not sufficient force to enter the city and take the palace. An hour
since and you might have made your way to him; but now every avenue is
strongly guarded since O-Tar learned that A-Kor had escaped to U-Thor."

"A-Kor has escaped and joined U-Thor!" exclaimed Gahan.

"But little more than an hour since. I was with him when a warrior
came—a man whose name is Tasor—who brought a message from you. It was
decided that Tasor should accompany A-Kor in an attempt to reach the
camp of U-Thor, the great jed of Manatos, and exact from him the
assurances you required. Then U-Thor was to return and take food to you
and the Princess of Helium. I accompanied them. We won through easily
and found U-Thor more than willing to respect your every wish, but when
Tasor would have returned to you the way was blocked by the warriors of
O-Tar. Then it was that I volunteered to come to you and report and
find food and drink and then go forth among the Gatholian slaves of
Manator and prepare them for their part in the plan that U-Thor and
Tasor conceived."

"And what was this plan?"

"U-Thor has sent for reinforcements. To Manatos he has sent and to all
the outlying districts that are his. It will take a month to collect
and bring them hither and in the meantime the slaves within the city
are to organize secretly, stealing and hiding arms against the day that
the reinforcements arrive. When that day comes the forces of U-Thor
will enter the Gate of Enemies and as the warriors of O-Tar rush to
repulse them the slaves from Gathol will fall upon them from the rear
with the majority of their numbers, while the balance will assault the
palace. They hope thus to divert so many from The Gate that U-Thor will
have little difficulty in forcing an entrance to the city."

"Perhaps they will succeed," commented Gahan; "but the warriors of
O-Tar are many, and those who fight in defense of their homes and their
jeddak have always an advantage. Ah, Ghek, would that we had the great
warships of Gathol or of Helium to pour their merciless fire into the
streets of Manator while U-Thor marched to the palace over the corpses
of the slain." He paused, deep in thought, and then turned his gaze
again upon the kaldane. "Heard you aught of the party that escaped with
me from The Field of Jetan—of Floran, Val Dor, and the others? What of
them?"

"Ten of these won through to U-Thor at The Gate of Enemies and were
well received by him. Eight fell in the fighting upon the way. Val Dor
and Floran live, I believe, for I am sure that I heard U-Thor address
two warriors by these names."

"Good!" exclaimed Gahan. "Go then, through the burrows of the ulsios,
to The Gate of Enemies and carry to Floran the message that I shall
write in his own language. Come, while I write the message."

In a nearby room they found a bench and table and there Gahan sat and
wrote in the strange, stenographic characters of Martian script a
message to Floran of Gathol. "Why," he asked, when he had finished it,
"did you search for Tara through the spiral runway where we nearly met?"

"Tasor told me where you were to be found, and as I have explored the
greater part of the palace by means of the ulsio runways and the darker
and less frequented passages I knew precisely where you were and how to
reach you. This secret spiral ascends from the pits to the roof of the
loftiest of the palace towers. It has secret openings at every level;
but there is no living Manatorian, I believe, who knows of its
existence. At least never have I met one within it and I have used it
many times. Thrice have I been in the chamber where O-Mai lies, though
I knew nothing of his identity or the story of his death until Tasor
told it to us in the camp of U-Thor."

"You know the palace thoroughly then?" Gahan interrupted.

"Better than O-Tar himself or any of his servants."

"Good! And you would serve the Princess Tara, Ghek, you may serve her
best by accompanying Floran and following his instructions. I will
write them here at the close of my message to him, for the walls have
ears, Ghek, while none but a Gatholian may read what I have written to
Floran. He will transmit it to you. Can I trust you?"

"I may never return to Bantoom," replied Ghek. "Therefore I have but
two friends in all Barsoom. What better may I do than serve them
faithfully? You may trust me, Gatholian, who with a woman of your kind
has taught me that there be finer and nobler things than perfect
mentality uninfluenced by the unreasoning tuitions of the heart. I go."

As O-Tar pointed to the little doorway all eyes turned in the direction
he indicated and surprise was writ large upon the faces of the warriors
when they recognized the two who had entered the banquet hall. There
was I-Gos, and he dragged behind him one who was gagged and whose hands
were fastened behind with a ribbon of tough silk. It was the slave
girl. I-Gos' cackling laughter rose above the silence of the room.

"Ey, ey!" he shrilled. "What the young warriors of O-Tar cannot do, old
I-Gos does alone."

"Only a Corphal may capture a Corphal," growled one of the chiefs who
had fled from the chambers of O-Mai.

I-Gos laughed. "Terror turned your heart to water," he replied; "and
shame your tongue to libel. This be no Corphal, but only a woman of
Helium; her companion a warrior who can match blades with the best of
you and cut your putrid hearts. Not so in the days of I-Gos' youth. Ah,
then were there men in Manator. Well do I recall that day that I—"

"Peace, doddering fool!" commanded O-Tar. "Where is the man?"

"Where I found the woman—in the death chamber of O-Mai. Let your wise
and brave chieftains go thither and fetch him. I am an old man, and
could bring but one."

"You have done well, I-Gos," O-Tar hastened to assure him, for when he
learned that Gahan might still be in the haunted chambers he wished to
appease the wrath of I-Gos, knowing well the vitriolic tongue and
temper of the ancient one. "You think she is no Corphal, then, I-Gos?"
he asked, wishing to carry the subject from the man who was still at
large.

"No more than you," replied the ancient taxidermist.

O-Tar looked long and searchingly at Tara of Helium. All the beauty
that was hers seemed suddenly to be carried to every fibre of his
consciousness. She was still garbed in the rich harness of a Black
Princess of Jetan, and as O-Tar the Jeddak gazed upon her he realized
that never before had his eyes rested upon a more perfect figure—a
more beautiful face.

"She is no Corphal," he murmured to himself. "She is no Corphal and she
is a princess—a princess of Helium, and, by the golden hair of the
Holy Hekkador, she is beautiful. Take the gag from her mouth and
release her hands," he commanded aloud. "Make room for the Princess
Tara of Helium at the side of O-Tar of Manator. She shall dine as
becomes a princess."

Slaves did as O-Tar bid and Tara of Helium stood with flashing eyes
behind the chair that was offered her. "Sit!" commanded O-Tar.

The girl sank into the chair. "I sit as a prisoner," she said; "not as
a guest at the board of my enemy, O-Tar of Manator."

O-Tar motioned his followers from the room. "I would speak alone with
the Princess of Helium," he said. The company and the slaves withdrew
and once more the Jeddak of Manator turned toward the girl. "O-Tar of
Manator would be your friend," he said.

Tara of Helium sat with arms folded upon her small, firm breasts, her
eyes flashing from behind narrowed lids, nor did she deign to answer
his overture. O-Tar leaned closer to her. He noted the hostility of her
bearing and he recalled his first encounter with her. She was a
she-banth, but she was beautiful. She was by far the most desirable
woman that O-Tar had ever looked upon and he was determined to possess
her. He told her so.

"I could take you as my slave," he said to her; "but it pleases me to
make you my wife. You shall be Jeddara of Manator. You shall have seven
days in which to prepare for the great honor that O-Tar is conferring
upon you, and at this hour of the seventh day you shall become an
empress and the wife of O-Tar in the throne room of the jeddaks of
Manator." He struck a gong that stood beside him upon the table and
when a slave appeared he bade him recall the company. Slowly the chiefs
filed in and took their places at the table. Their faces were grim and
scowling, for there was still unanswered the question of their jeddak's
courage. If O-Tar had hoped they would forget he had been mistaken in
his men.

O-Tar arose. "In seven days," he announced, "there will be a great
feast in honor of the new Jeddara of Manator," and he waved his hand
toward Tara of Helium. "The ceremony will occur at the beginning of the
seventh zode* in the throne room. In the meantime the Princess of
Helium will be cared for in the tower of the women's quarters of the
palace. Conduct her thither, E-Thas, with a suitable guard of honor and
see to it that slaves and eunuchs be placed at her disposal, who shall
attend upon all her wants and guard her carefully from harm."

* About 8:30 P. M. Earth Time.

Now E-Thas knew that the real meaning concealed in these fine words was
that he should conduct the prisoner under a strong guard to the women's
quarters and confine her there in the tower for seven days, placing
about her trustworthy guards who would prevent her escape or frustrate
any attempted rescue.

As Tara was departing from the chamber with E-Thas and the guard, O-Tar
leaned close to her ear and whispered: "Consider well during these
seven days the high honor I have offered you, and—its sole
alternative." As though she had not heard him the girl passed out of
the banquet hall, her head high and her eyes straight to the front.

After Ghek had left him Gahan roamed the pits and the ancient corridors
of the deserted portions of the palace seeking some clue to the
whereabouts or the fate of Tara of Helium. He utilized the spiral
runway in passing from level to level until he knew every foot of it
from the pits to the summit of the high tower, and into what apartments
it opened at the various levels as well as the ingenious and hidden
mechanism that operated the locks of the cleverly concealed doors
leading to it. For food he drew upon the stores he found in the pits
and when he slept he lay upon the royal couch of O-Mai in the forbidden
chamber sharing the dais with the dead foot of the ancient jeddak.

In the palace about him seethed, all unknown to Gahan, a vast unrest.
Warriors and chieftains pursued the duties of their vocations with dour
faces, and little knots of them were collecting here and there and with
frowns of anger discussing some subject that was uppermost in the minds
of all. It was upon the fourth day following Tara's incarceration in
the tower that E-Thas, the major-domo of the palace and one of O-Tar's
creatures, came to his master upon some trivial errand. O-Tar was alone
in one of the smaller chambers of his personal suite when the
major-domo was announced, and after the matter upon which E-Thas had
come was disposed of the jeddak signed him to remain.

"From the position of an obscure warrior I have elevated you, E-Thas,
to the honors of a chief. Within the confines of the palace your word
is second only to mine. You are not loved for this, E-Thas, and should
another jeddak ascend the throne of Manator what would become of you,
whose enemies are among the most powerful of Manator?"

"Speak not of it, O-Tar," begged E-Thas. "These last few days I have
thought upon it much and I would forget it; but I have sought to
appease the wrath of my worst enemies. I have been very kind and
indulgent with them."

"You, too, read the voiceless message in the air?" demanded the jeddak.

E-Thas was palpably uneasy and he did not reply.

"Why did you not come to me with your apprehensions?" demanded O-Tar.
"Be this loyalty?"

"I feared, O mighty jeddak!" replied E-Thas. "I feared that you would
not understand and that you would be angry."

"What know you? Speak the whole truth!" commanded O-Tar.

"There is much unrest among the chieftains and the warriors," replied
E-Thas. "Even those who were your friends fear the power of those who
speak against you."

"What say they?" growled the jeddak.

"They say that you are afraid to enter the apartments of O-Mai in
search of the slave Turan—oh, do not be angry with me, Jeddak; it is
but what they say that I repeat. I, your loyal E-Thas, believe no such
foul slander."

"No, no; why should I fear?" demanded O-Tar. "We do not know that he is
there. Did not my chiefs go thither and see nothing of him?"

"But they say that you did not go," pursued E-Thas, "and that they will
have none of a coward upon the throne of Manator."

"They said that treason?" O-Tar almost shouted.

"They said that and more, great jeddak," answered the major-domo. "They
said that not only did you fear to enter the chambers of O-Mai, but
that you feared the slave Turan, and they blame you for your treatment
of A-Kor, whom they all believe to have been murdered at your command.
They were fond of A-Kor and there are many now who say aloud that A-Kor
would have made a wondrous jeddak."

"They dare?" screamed O-Tar. "They dare suggest the name of a slave's
bastard for the throne of O-Tar!"

"He is your son, O-Tar," E-Thas reminded him, "nor is there a more
beloved man in Manator—I but speak to you of facts which may not be
ignored, and I dare do so because only when you realize the truth may
you seek a cure for the ills that draw about your throne."

O-Tar had slumped down upon his bench—suddenly he looked shrunken and
tired and old. "Cursed be the day," he cried, "that saw those three
strangers enter the city of Manator. Would that U-Dor had been spared
to me. He was strong—my enemies feared him; but he is gone—dead at
the hands of that hateful slave, Turan; may the curse of Issus be upon
him!"

"My jeddak, what shall we do?" begged E-Thas. "Cursing the slave will
not solve your problems."

"But the great feast and the marriage is but three days off," pleaded
O-Tar. "It shall be a great gala occasion. The warriors and the chiefs
all know that—it is the custom. Upon that day gifts and honors shall
be bestowed. Tell me, who are most bitter against me? I will send you
among them and let it be known that I am planning rewards for their
past services to the throne. We will make jeds of chiefs and chiefs of
warriors, and grant them palaces and slaves. Eh, E-Thas?"

The other shook his head. "It will not do, O-Tar. They will have
nothing of your gifts or honors. I have heard them say as much."

"What do they want?" demanded O-Tar.

"They want a jeddak as brave as the bravest," replied E-Thas, though
his knees shook as he said it.

"They think I am a coward?" cried the jeddak.

"They say you are afraid to go to the apartments of O-mai the Cruel."

For a long time O-Tar sat, his head sunk upon his breast, staring
blankly at the floor.

"Tell them," he said at last in a hollow voice that sounded not at all
like the voice of a great jeddak; "tell them that I will go to the
chambers of O-Mai and search for Turan the slave."

CHAPTER XXI

A RISK FOR LOVE

"Ey, ey, he is a craven and he called me 'doddering fool'!" The speaker
was I-Gos and he addressed a knot of chieftains in one of the chambers
of the palace of O-Tar, Jeddak of Manator: "If A-Kor was alive there
were a jeddak for us!"

"Who says that A-Kor is dead?" demanded one of the chiefs.

"Where is he then?" asked I-Gos. "Have not others disappeared whom
O-Tar thought too well beloved for men so near the throne as they?"

The chief shook his head. "And I thought that, or knew it, rather; I'd
join U-Thor at The Gate of Enemies."

"S-s-st," cautioned one; "here comes the licker of feet," and all eyes
were turned upon the approaching E-Thas.

"Kaor, friends!" he exclaimed as he stopped among them, but his
friendly greeting elicited naught but a few surly nods. "Have you heard
the news?" he continued, unabashed by treatment to which he was
becoming accustomed.

"What—has O-Tar seen an ulsio and fainted?" demanded I-Gos with broad
sarcasm.

"Men have died for less than that, ancient one," E-Thas reminded him.

"I am safe," retorted I-Gos, "for I am not a brave and popular son of
the jeddak of Manator."

This was indeed open treason, but E-Thas feigned not to hear it. He
ignored I-Gos and turned to the others. "O-Tar goes to the chamber of
O-Mai this night in search of Turan the slave," he said. "He sorrows
that his warriors have not the courage for so mean a duty and that
their jeddak is thus compelled to arrest a common slave," with which
taunt E-Thas passed on to spread the word in other parts of the palace.
As a matter of fact the latter part of his message was purely original
with himself, and he took great delight in delivering it to the
discomfiture of his enemies. As he was leaving the little group of men
I-Gos called after him. "At what hour does O-Tar intend visiting the
chambers of O-Mai?" he asked.

"Toward the end of the eighth zode*," replied the major-domo, and went
his way.

* About 1:00 A. M. Earth Time.

"We shall see," stated I-Gos.

"What shall we see?" asked a warrior.

"We shall see whether O-Tar visits the chamber of O-Mai."

"How?"

"I shall be there myself and if I see him I will know that he has been
there. If I don't see him I will know that he has not," explained the
old taxidermist.

"Is there anything there to fill an honest man with fear?" asked a
chieftain. "What have you seen?"

"It was not so much what I saw, though that was bad enough, as what I
heard," said I-Gos.

"Tell us! What heard and saw you?"

"I saw the dead O-Mai," said I-Gos. The others shuddered.

"And you went not mad?" they asked.

"Am I mad?" retorted I-Gos.

"And you will go again?"

"Yes."

"Then indeed you are mad," cried one.

"You saw the dead O-Mai; but what heard you that was worse?" whispered
another.

"I saw the dead O-Mai lying upon the floor of his sleeping chamber with
one foot tangled in the sleeping silks and furs upon his couch. I heard
horrid moans and frightful screams."

"And you are not afraid to go there again?" demanded several.

"The dead cannot harm me," said I-Gos. "He has lain thus for five
thousand years. Nor can a sound harm me. I heard it once and live—I
can hear it again. It came from almost at my side where I hid behind
the hangings and watched the slave Turan before I snatched the woman
away from him."

"I-Gos, you are a very brave man," said a chieftain.

"O-Tar called me 'doddering fool' and I would face worse dangers than
lie in the forbidden chambers of O-Mai to know it if he does not visit
the chamber of O-Mai. Then indeed shall O-Tar fall!"

The night came and the zodes dragged and the time approached when
O-Tar, Jeddak of Manator, was to visit the chamber of O-Mai in search
of the slave Turan. To us, who may doubt the existence of malignant
spirits, his fear may seem unbelievable, for he was a strong man, an
excellent swordsman, and a warrior of great repute; but the fact
remained that O-Tar of Manator was nervous with apprehension as he
strode the corridors of his palace toward the deserted halls of O-Mai
and when he stood at last with his hand upon the door that opened from
the dusty corridor to the very apartments themselves he was almost
paralyzed with terror. He had come alone for two very excellent
reasons, the first of which was that thus none might note his
terror-stricken state nor his defection should he fail at the last
moment, and the other was that should he accomplish the thing alone or
be able to make his chiefs believe that he had, the credit would be far
greater than were he to be accompanied by warriors.

But though he had started alone he had become aware that he was being
followed, and he knew that it was because his people had no faith in
either his courage or his veracity. He did not believe that he would
find the slave Turan. He did not very much want to find him, for though
O-Tar was an excellent swordsman and a brave warrior in physical
combat, he had seen how Turan had played with U-Dor and he had no
stomach for a passage at arms with one whom he knew outclassed him.

And so O-Tar stood with his hand upon the door—afraid to enter; afraid
not to. But at last his fear of his own warriors, watching behind him,
grew greater than the fear of the unknown behind the ancient door and
he pushed the heavy skeel aside and entered.

Silence and gloom and the dust of centuries lay heavy upon the chamber.
From his warriors he knew the route that he must take to the horrid
chamber of O-Mai and so he forced his unwilling feet across the room
before him, across the room where the jetan players sat at their
eternal game, and came to the short corridor that led into the room of
O-Mai. His naked sword trembled in his grasp. He paused after each
forward step to listen and when he was almost at the door of the
ghost-haunted chamber, his heart stood still within his breast and the
cold sweat broke from the clammy skin of his forehead, for from within
there came to his affrighted ears the sound of muffled breathing. Then
it was that O-Tar of Manator came near to fleeing from the nameless
horror that he could not see, but that he knew lay waiting for him in
that chamber just ahead. But again came the fear of the wrath and
contempt of his warriors and his chiefs. They would degrade him and
they would slay him into the bargain. There was no doubt of what his
fate would be should he flee the apartments of O-Mai in terror. His
only hope, therefore, lay in daring the unknown in preference to the
known.

He moved forward. A few steps took him to the doorway. The chamber
before him was darker than the corridor, so that he could just
indistinctly make out the objects in the room. He saw a sleeping dais
near the center, with a darker blotch of something lying on the marble
floor beside it. He moved a step farther into the doorway and the
scabbard of his sword scraped against the stone frame. To his horror he
saw the sleeping silks and furs upon the central dais move. He saw a
figure slowly arising to a sitting posture from the death bed of O-Mai
the Cruel. His knees shook, but he gathered all his moral forces, and
gripping his sword more tightly in his trembling fingers prepared to
leap across the chamber upon the horrid apparition. He hesitated just a
moment. He felt eyes upon him—ghoulish eyes that bored through the
darkness into his withering heart—eyes that he could not see. He
gathered himself for the rush—and then there broke from the thing upon
the couch an awful shriek, and O-Tar sank senseless to the floor.

Gahan rose from the couch of O-Mai, smiling, only to swing quickly
about with drawn sword as the shadow of a noise impinged upon his keen
ears from the shadows behind him. Between the parted hangings he saw a
bent and wrinkled figure. It was I-Gos.

"Sheathe your sword, Turan," said the old man. "You have naught to fear
from I-Gos."

"What do you here?" demanded Gahan.

"I came to make sure that the great coward did not cheat us. Ey, and he
called me 'doddering fool;' but look at him now! Stricken insensible by
terror, but, ey, one might forgive him that who had heard your uncanny
scream. It all but blasted my own courage. And it was you, then, who
moaned and screamed when the chiefs came the day that I stole Tara from
you?"

"Come, come!" expostulated the old man; "it was I, but then I was your
enemy. I would not do it now. Conditions have changed."

"How have they changed? What has changed them?" asked Gahan.

"Then I did not fully realize the cowardice of my jeddak, or the
bravery of you and the girl. I am an old man from another age and I
love courage. At first I resented the girl's attack upon me, but later
I came to see the bravery of it and it won my admiration, as have all
her acts. She feared not O-Tar, she feared not me, she feared not all
the warriors of Manator. And you! Blood of a million sires! how you
fight! I am sorry that I exposed you at The Fields of Jetan. I am sorry
that I dragged the girl Tara back to O-Tar. I would make amends. I
would be your friend. Here is my sword at your feet," and drawing his
weapon I-Gos cast it to the floor in front of Gahan.

The Gatholian knew that scarce the most abandoned of knaves would
repudiate this solemn pledge, and so he stooped, and picking up the old
man's sword returned it to him, hilt first, in acceptance of his
friendship.

"Where is the Princess Tara of Helium?" asked Gahan. "Is she safe?"

"She is confined in the tower of the women's quarters awaiting the
ceremony that is to make her Jeddara of Manator," replied I-Gos.

"This thing dared think that Tara of Helium would mate with him?"
growled Gahan. "I will make short work of him if he is not already dead
from fright," and he stepped toward the fallen O-Tar to run his sword
through the jeddak's heart.

"No!" cried I-Gos. "Slay him not and pray that he be not dead if you
would save your princess."

"How is that?" asked Gahan.

"If word of O-Tar's death reached the quarters of the women the
Princess Tara would be lost. They know O-Tar's intention of taking her
to wife and making her Jeddara of Manator, so you may rest assured that
they all hate her with the hate of jealous women. Only O-Tar's power
protects her now from harm. Should O-Tar die they would turn her over
to the warriors and the male slaves, for there would be none to avenge
her."

Gahan sheathed his sword. "Your point is well taken; but what shall we
do with him?"

"Leave him where he lies," counseled I-Gos. "He is not dead. When he
revives he will return to his quarters with a fine tale of his bravery
and there will be none to impugn his boasts—none but I-Gos. Come! he
may revive at any moment and he must not find us here."

I-Gos crossed to the body of his jeddak, knelt beside it for an
instant, and then returned past the couch to Gahan. The two quit the
chamber of O-Mai and took their way toward the spiral runway. Here
I-Gos led Gahan to a higher level and out upon the roof of that portion
of the palace from where he pointed to a high tower quite close by.
"There," he said, "lies the Princess of Helium, and quite safe she will
be until the time of the ceremony."

"Safe, possibly, from other hands, but not from her own," said Gahan.
"She will never become Jeddara of Manator—first will she destroy
herself."

"She would do that?" asked I-Gos.

"She will, unless you can get word to her that I still live and that
there is yet hope," replied Gahan.

"I cannot get word to her," said I-Gos. "The quarters of his women
O-Tar guards with jealous hand. Here are his most trusted slaves and
warriors, yet even so, thick among them are countless spies, so that no
man knows which be which. No shadow falls within those chambers that is
not marked by a hundred eyes."

Gahan stood gazing at the lighted windows of the high tower in the
upper chambers of which Tara of Helium was confined. "I will find a
way, I-Gos," he said.

"There is no way," replied the old man.

For some time they stood upon the roof beneath the brilliant stars and
hurtling moons of dying Mars, laying their plans against the time that
Tara of Helium should be brought from the high tower to the throne room
of O-Tar. It was then, and then alone, argued I-Gos, that any hope of
rescuing her might be entertained. Just how far he might trust the
other Gahan did not know, and so he kept to himself the knowledge of
the plan that he had forwarded to Floran and Val Dor by Ghek, but he
assured the ancient taxidermist that if he were sincere in his
oft-repeated declaration that O-Tar should be denounced and superseded
he would have his opportunity on the night that the jeddak sought to
wed the Heliumetic princess.

"Your time shall come then, I-Gos," Gahan assured the other, "and if
you have any party that thinks as you do, prepare them for the
eventuality that will succeed O-Tar's presumptuous attempt to wed the
daughter of The Warlord. Where shall I see you again, and when? I go
now to speak with Tara, Princess of Helium."

"I like your boldness," said I-Gos; "but it will avail you naught. You
will not speak with Tara, Princess of Helium, though doubtless the
blood of many Manatorians will drench the floors of the women's
quarters before you are slain."

Gahan smiled. "I shall not be slain. Where and when shall we meet? But
you may find me in O-Mai's chamber at night. That seems the safest
retreat in all Manator for an enemy of the jeddak in whose palace it
lies. I go!"

"And may the spirits of your ancestors surround you," said I-Gos.

After the old man had left him Gahan made his way across the roof to
the high tower, which appeared to have been constructed of concrete and
afterward elaborately carved, its entire surface being covered with
intricate designs cut deep into the stone-like material of which it was
composed. Though wrought ages since, it was but little weather-worn
owing to the aridity of the Martian atmosphere, the infrequency of
rains, and the rarity of dust storms. To scale it, though, presented
difficulties and danger that might have deterred the bravest of
men—that would, doubtless, have deterred Gahan, had he not felt that
the life of the woman he loved depended upon his accomplishing the
hazardous feat.

Removing his sandals and laying aside all of his harness and weapons
other than a single belt supporting a dagger, the Gatholian essayed the
dangerous ascent. Clinging to the carvings with hands and feet he
worked himself slowly aloft, avoiding the windows and keeping upon the
shadowy side of the tower, away from the light of Thuria and Cluros.
The tower rose some fifty feet above the roof of the adjacent part of
the palace, comprising five levels or floors with windows looking in
every direction. A few of the windows were balconied, and these more
than the others he sought to avoid, although, it being now near the
close of the ninth zode, there was little likelihood that many were
awake within the tower.

His progress was noiseless and he came at last, undetected, to the
windows of the upper level. These, like several of the others he had
passed at lower levels, were heavily barred, so that there was no
possibility of his gaining ingress to the apartment where Tara was
confined. Darkness hid the interior behind the first window that he
approached. The second opened upon a lighted chamber where he could see
a guard sleeping at his post outside a door. Here also was the top of
the runway leading to the next level below. Passing still farther
around the tower Gahan approached another window, but now he clung to
that side of the tower which ended in a courtyard a hundred feet below
and in a short time the light of Thuria would reach him. He realized
that he must hasten and he prayed that behind the window he now
approached he would find Tara of Helium.

Coming to the opening he looked in upon a small chamber dimly lighted.
In the center was a sleeping dais upon which a human form lay beneath
silks and furs. A bare arm, protruding from the coverings, lay exposed
against a black and yellow striped orluk skin—an arm of wondrous
beauty about which was clasped an armlet that Gahan knew. No other
creature was visible within the chamber, all of which was exposed to
Gahan's view. Pressing his face to the bars the Gatholian whispered her
dear name. The girl stirred, but did not awaken. Again he called, but
this time louder. Tara sat up and looked about and at the same instant
a huge eunuch leaped to his feet from where he had been lying on the
floor close by that side of the dais farthest from Gahan.
Simultaneously the brilliant light of Thuria flashed full upon the
window where Gahan clung silhouetting him plainly to the two within.

Both sprang to their feet. The eunuch drew his sword and leaped for the
window where the helpless Gahan would have fallen an easy victim to a
single thrust of the murderous weapon the fellow bore, had not Tara of
Helium leaped upon her guard dragging him back. At the same time she
drew the slim dagger from its hiding place in her harness and even as
the eunuch sought to hurl her aside its keen point found his heart.
Without a sound he died and lunged forward to the floor. Then Tara ran
to the window.

"Turan, my chief!" she cried. "What awful risk is this you take to seek
me here, where even your brave heart is powerless to aid me."

"Be not so sure of that, heart of my heart," he replied. "While I bring
but words to my love, they be the forerunner of deeds, I hope, that
will give her back to me forever. I feared that you might destroy
yourself, Tara of Helium, to escape the dishonor that O-Tar would do
you, and so I came to give you new hope and to beg that you live for me
through whatever may transpire, in the knowledge that there is yet a
way and that if all goes well we shall be freed at last. Look for me in
the throne room of O-Tar the night that he would wed you. And now, how
may we dispose of this fellow?" He pointed to the dead eunuch upon the
floor.

"We need not concern ourselves about that," she replied. "None dares
harm me for fear of the wrath of O-Tar—otherwise I should have been
dead so soon as ever I entered this portion of the palace, for the
women hate me. O-Tar alone may punish me, and what cares O-Tar for the
life of a eunuch? No, fear not upon this score."

Their hands were clasped between the bars and now Gahan drew her nearer
to him.

"One kiss," he said, "before I go, my princess," and the proud daughter
of Dejah Thoris, Princess of Helium, and The Warlord of Barsoom
whispered: "My chieftain!" and pressed her lips to the lips of Turan,
the common panthan.

CHAPTER XXII

AT THE MOMENT OF MARRIAGE

The silence of the tomb lay heavy about him as O-Tar, Jeddak of
Manator, opened his eyes in the chamber of O-Mai. Recollection of the
frightful apparition that had confronted him swept to his
consciousness. He listened, but heard naught. Within the range of his
vision there was nothing apparent that might cause alarm. Slowly he
lifted his head and looked about. Upon the floor beside the couch lay
the thing that had at first attracted his attention and his eyes closed
in terror as he recognized it for what it was; but it moved not, nor
spoke. O-Tar opened his eyes again and rose to his feet. He was
trembling in every limb. There was nothing on the dais from which he
had seen the thing arise.

O-Tar backed slowly from the room. At last he gained the outer
corridor. It was empty. He did not know that it had emptied rapidly as
the loud scream with which his own had mingled had broken upon the
startled ears of the warriors who had been sent to spy upon him. He
looked at the timepiece set in a massive bracelet upon his left
forearm. The ninth zode was nearly half gone. O-Tar had lain for an
hour unconscious. He had spent an hour in the chamber of O-Mai and he
was not dead! He had looked upon the face of his predecessor and was
still sane! He shook himself and smiled. Rapidly he subdued his
rebelliously shaking nerves, so that by the time he reached the
tenanted portion of the palace he had gained control of himself. He
walked with chin high and something of a swagger. To the banquet hall
he went, knowing that his chiefs awaited him there and as he entered
they arose and upon the faces of many were incredulity and amaze, for
they had not thought to see O-Tar the jeddak again after what the spies
had told them of the horrid sounds issuing from the chamber of O-Mai.
Thankful was O-Tar that he had gone alone to that chamber of fright,
for now no one could deny the tale that he should tell.

E-Thas rushed forward to greet him, for E-Thas had seen black looks
directed toward him as the tals slipped by and his benefactor failed to
return.

"O brave and glorious jeddak!" cried the major-domo. "We rejoice at
your safe return and beg of you the story of your adventure."

"It was naught," exclaimed O-Tar. "I searched the chambers carefully
and waited in hiding for the return of the slave, Turan, if he were
temporarily away; but he came not. He is not there and I doubt if he
ever goes there. Few men would choose to remain long in such a dismal
place."

"I heard hideous noises and saw phantom figures; but they fled before
me so that never could I lay hold of one, and I looked upon the face of
O-Mai and I am not mad. I even rested in the chamber beside his corpse."

In a far corner of the room a bent and wrinkled old man hid a smile
behind a golden goblet of strong brew.

"Come! Let us drink!" cried O-Tar and reached for the dagger, the
pommel of which he was accustomed to use to strike the gong which
summoned slaves, but the dagger was not in its scabbard. O-Tar was
puzzled. He knew that it had been there just before he entered the
chamber of O-Mai, for he had carefully felt of all his weapons to make
sure that none was missing. He seized instead a table utensil and
struck the gong, and when the slaves came bade them bring the strongest
brew for O-Tar and his chiefs. Before the dawn broke many were the
expressions of admiration bellowed from drunken lips—admiration for
the courage of their jeddak; but some there were who still looked glum.

Came at last the day that O-Tar would take the Princess Tara of Helium
to wife. For hours slaves prepared the unwilling bride. Seven perfumed
baths occupied three long and weary hours, then her whole body was
anointed with the oil of pimalia blossoms and massaged by the deft
fingers of a slave from distant Dusar. Her harness, all new and wrought
for the occasion was of the white hide of the great white apes of
Barsoom, hung heavily with platinum and diamonds—fairly encrusted with
them. The glossy mass of her jet hair had been built into a coiffure of
stately and becoming grandeur, into which diamond-headed pins were
stuck until the whole scintillated as the stars in heaven upon a
moonless night.

But it was a sullen and defiant bride that they led from the high tower
toward the throne room of O-Tar. The corridors were filled with slaves
and warriors, and the women of the palace and the city who had been
commanded to attend the ceremony. All the power and pride, wealth and
beauty of Manator were there.

Slowly Tara, surrounded by a heavy guard of honor, moved along the
marble corridors filled with people. At the entrance to The Hall of
Chiefs E-Thas, the major-domo, received her. The Hall was empty except
for its ranks of dead chieftains upon their dead mounts. Through this
long chamber E-Thas escorted her to the throne room which also was
empty, the marriage ceremony in Manator differing from that of other
countries of Barsoom. Here the bride would await the groom at the foot
of the steps leading to the throne. The guests followed her in and took
their places, leaving the central aisle from The Hall of Chiefs to the
throne clear, for up this O-Tar would approach his bride alone after a
short solitary communion with the dead behind closed doors in The Hall
of Chiefs. It was the custom.

The guests had all filed through The Hall of Chiefs; the doors at both
ends had been closed. Presently those at the lower end of the hall
opened and O-Tar entered. His black harness was ornamented with rubies
and gold; his face was covered by a grotesque mask of the precious
metal in which two enormous rubies were set for eyes, though below them
were narrow slits through which the wearer could see. His crown was a
fillet supporting carved feathers of the same metal as the mask. To the
least detail his regalia was that demanded of a royal bridegroom by the
customs of Manator, and now in accordance with that same custom he came
alone to The Hall of Chiefs to receive the blessings and the council of
the great ones of Manator who had preceded him.

As the doors at the lower end of the Hall closed behind him O-Tar the
Jeddak stood alone with the great dead. By the dictates of ages no
mortal eye might look upon the scene enacted within that sacred
chamber. As the mighty of Manator respected the traditions of Manator,
let us, too, respect those traditions of a proud and sensitive people.
Of what concern to us the happenings in that solemn chamber of the dead?

Five minutes passed. The bride stood silently at the foot of the
throne. The guests spoke together in low whispers until the room was
filled with the hum of many voices. At length the doors leading into
The Hall of Chiefs swung open, and the resplendent bridegroom stood
framed for a moment in the massive opening. A hush fell upon the
wedding guests. With measured and impressive step the groom approached
the bride. Tara felt the muscles of her heart contract with the
apprehension that had been growing upon her as the coils of Fate
settled more closely about her and no sign came from Turan. Where was
he? What, indeed, could he accomplish now to save her? Surrounded by
the power of O-Tar with never a friend among them, her position seemed
at last without vestige of hope.

"I still live!" she whispered inwardly in a last brave attempt to
combat the terrible hopelessness that was overwhelming her, but her
fingers stole for reassurance to the slim blade that she had managed to
transfer, undetected, from her old harness to the new. And now the
groom was at her side and taking her hand was leading her up the steps
to the throne, before which they halted and stood facing the gathering
below. Came then, from the back of the room a procession headed by the
high dignitary whose office it was to make these two man and wife, and
directly behind him a richly-clad youth bearing a silken pillow on
which lay the golden handcuffs connected by a short length of
chain-of-gold with which the ceremony would be concluded when the
dignitary clasped a handcuff about the wrist of each symbolizing their
indissoluble union in the holy bonds of wedlock.

Would Turan's promised succor come too late? Tara listened to the long,
monotonous intonation of the wedding service. She heard the virtues of
O-Tar extolled and the beauties of the bride. The moment was
approaching and still no sign of Turan. But what could he accomplish
should he succeed in reaching the throne room, other than to die with
her? There could be no hope of rescue.

The dignitary lifted the golden handcuffs from the pillow upon which
they reposed. He blessed them and reached for Tara's wrist. The time
had come! The thing could go no further, for alive or dead, by all the
laws of Barsoom she would be the wife of O-Tar of Manator the instant
the two were locked together. Even should rescue come then or later she
could never dissolve those bonds and Turan would be lost to her as
surely as though death separated them.

Her hand stole toward the hidden blade, but instantly the hand of the
groom shot out and seized her wrist. He had guessed her intention.
Through the slits in the grotesque mask she could see his eyes upon her
and she guessed the sardonic smile that the mask hid. For a tense
moment the two stood thus. The people below them kept breathless
silence for the play before the throne had not passed unnoticed.

Dramatic as was the moment it was suddenly rendered trebly so by the
noisy opening of the doors leading to The Hall of Chiefs. All eyes
turned in the direction of the interruption to see another figure
framed in the massive opening—a half-clad figure buckling the
half-adjusted harness hurriedly in place—the figure of O-Tar, Jeddak
of Manator.

"Stop!" he screamed, springing forward along the aisle toward the
throne. "Seize the impostor!"

All eyes shot to the figure of the groom before the throne. They saw
him raise his hand and snatch off the golden mask, and Tara of Helium
in wide-eyed incredulity looked up into the face of Turan the panthan.

"Wait!" screamed another voice, old and cracked, as I-Gos, the ancient
taxidermist, sprang from among the guests and reached the throne steps
ahead of the foremost warriors.

At sight of the old man the warriors paused, for age is held in great
veneration among the peoples of Barsoom, as is true, perhaps, of all
peoples whose religion is based to any extent upon ancestor worship.
But O-Tar gave no heed to him, leaping instead swiftly toward the
throne. "Stop, coward!" cried I-Gos.

The people looked at the little old man in amazement. "Men of Manator,"
he cackled in his thin, shrill voice, "wouldst be ruled by a coward and
a liar?"

"Down with him!" shouted O-Tar.

"Not until I have spoken," retorted I-Gos. "It is my right. If I fail
my life is forfeit—that you all know and I know. I demand therefore to
be heard. It is my right!"

"It is his right," echoed the voices of a score of warriors in various
parts of the chamber.

"That O-Tar is a coward and a liar I can prove," continued I-Gos. "He
said that he faced bravely the horrors of the chamber of O-Mai and saw
nothing of the slave Turan. I was there, hiding behind the hangings,
and I saw all that transpired. Turan had been hiding in the chamber and
was even then lying upon the couch of O-Mai when O-Tar, trembling with
fear, entered the room. Turan, disturbed, arose to a sitting position
at the same time voicing a piercing shriek. O-Tar screamed and swooned."

"It is a lie!" cried O-Tar.

"It is not a lie and I can prove it," retorted I-Gos. "Didst notice the
night that he returned from the chambers of O-Mai and was boasting of
his exploit, that when he would summon slaves to bring wine he reached
for his dagger to strike the gong with its pommel as is always his
custom? Didst note that, any of you? And that he had no dagger? O-Tar,
where is the dagger that you carried into the chamber of O-Mai? You do
not know; but I know. While you lay in the swoon of terror I took it
from your harness and hid it among the sleeping silks upon the couch of
O-Mai. There it is even now, and if any doubt it let them go thither
and there they will find it and know the cowardice of their jeddak."

"But what of this impostor?" demanded one. "Shall he stand with
impunity upon the throne of Manator whilst we squabble about our ruler?"

"It is through his bravery that you have learned the cowardice of
O-Tar," replied I-Gos, "and through him you will be given a greater
jeddak."

"We will choose our own jeddak. Seize and slay the slave!" There were
cries of approval from all parts of the room. Gahan was listening
intently, as though for some hoped-for sound. He saw the warriors
approaching the dais, where he now stood with drawn sword and with one
arm about Tara of Helium. He wondered if his plans had miscarried after
all. If they had it would mean death for him, and he knew that Tara
would take her life if he fell. Had he, then, served her so futilely
after all his efforts?

Several warriors were urging the necessity for sending at once to the
chamber of O-Mai to search for the dagger that would prove, if found,
the cowardice of O-Tar. At last three consented to go. "You need not
fear," I-Gos assured them. "There is naught there to harm you. I have
been there often of late and Turan the slave has slept there for these
many nights. The screams and moans that frightened you and O-Tar were
voiced by Turan to drive you away from his hiding place." Shamefacedly
the three left the apartment to search for O-Tar's dagger.

And now the others turned their attention once more to Gahan. They
approached the throne with bared swords, but they came slowly for they
had seen this slave upon the Field of Jetan and they knew the prowess
of his arm. They had reached the foot of the steps when from far above
there sounded a deep boom, and another, and another, and Turan smiled
and breathed a sigh of relief. Perhaps, after all, it had not come too
late. The warriors stopped and listened as did the others in the
chamber. Now there broke upon their ears a loud rattle of musketry and
it all came from above as though men were fighting upon the roofs of
the palace.

"What is it?" they demanded, one of the other.

"A great storm has broken over Manator," said one.

"Mind not the storm until you have slain the creature who dares stand
upon the throne of your jeddak," demanded O-Tar. "Seize him!"

Even as he ceased speaking the arras behind the throne parted and a
warrior stepped forth upon the dais. An exclamation of surprise and
dismay broke from the lips of the warriors of O-Tar. "U-Thor!" they
cried. "What treason is this?"

"It is no treason," said U-Thor in his deep voice. "I bring you a new
jeddak for all of Manator. No lying poltroon, but a courageous man whom
you all love."

He stepped aside then and another emerged from the corridor hidden by
the arras. It was A-Kor, and at sight of him there rose exclamations of
surprise, of pleasure, and of anger, as the various factions recognized
the coup d'état that had been arranged so cunningly. Behind A-Kor came
other warriors until the dais was crowded with them—all men of Manator
from the city of Manatos.

O-Tar was exhorting his warriors to attack, when a bloody and
disheveled padwar burst into the chamber through a side entrance. "The
city has fallen!" he cried aloud. "The hordes of Manatos pour through
The Gate of Enemies. The slaves from Gathol have arisen and destroyed
the palace guards. Great ships are landing warriors upon the palace
roof and in the Fields of Jetan. The men of Helium and Gathol are
marching through Manator. They cry aloud for the Princess of Helium and
swear to leave Manator a blazing funeral pyre consuming the bodies of
all our people. The skies are black with ships. They come in great
processions from the east and from the south."

And then once more the doors from The Hall of Chiefs swung wide and the
men of Manator turned to see another figure standing upon the
threshold—a mighty figure of a man with white skin, and black hair,
and gray eyes that glittered now like points of steel and behind him
The Hall of Chiefs was filled with fighting men wearing the harness of
far countries. Tara of Helium saw him and her heart leaped in
exultation, for it was John Carter, Warlord of Barsoom, come at the
head of a victorious host to the rescue of his daughter, and at his
side was Djor Kantos to whom she had been betrothed.

The Warlord eyed the assemblage for a moment before he spoke. "Lay down
your arms, men of Manator," he said. "I see my daughter and that she
lives, and if no harm has befallen her no blood need be shed. Your city
is filled with the fighting men of U-Thor, and those from Gathol and
from Helium. The palace is in the hands of the slaves from Gathol,
beside a thousand of my own warriors who fill the halls and chambers
surrounding this room. The fate of your jeddak lies in your own hands.
I have no wish to interfere. I come only for my daughter and to free
the slaves from Gathol. I have spoken!" and without waiting for a reply
and as though the room had been filled with his own people rather than
a hostile band he strode up the broad main aisle toward Tara of Helium.

The chiefs of Manator were stunned. They looked to O-Tar; but he could
only gaze helplessly about him as the enemy entered from The Hall of
Chiefs and circled the throne room until they had surrounded the entire
company. And then a dwar of the army of Helium entered.

"We have captured three chiefs," he reported to The Warlord, "who beg
that they be permitted to enter the throne room and report to their
fellows some matter which they say will decide the fate of Manator."

"Fetch them," ordered The Warlord.

They came, heavily guarded, to the foot of the steps leading to the
throne and there they stopped and the leader turned toward the others
of Manator and raising high his right hand displayed a jeweled dagger.
"We found it," he said, "even where I-Gos said that we would find it,"
and he looked menacingly upon O-Tar.

"A-Kor, jeddak of Manator!" cried a voice, and the cry was taken up by
a hundred hoarse-throated warriors.

"There can be but one jeddak in Manator," said the chief who held the
dagger; his eyes still fixed upon the hapless O-Tar he crossed to where
the latter stood and holding the dagger upon an outstretched palm
proffered it to the discredited ruler. "There can be but one jeddak in
Manator," he repeated meaningly.

O-Tar took the proffered blade and drawing himself to his full height
plunged it to the guard into his breast, in that single act redeeming
himself in the esteem of his people and winning an eternal place in The
Hall of Chiefs.

As he fell all was silence in the great room, to be broken presently by
the voice of U-Thor. "O-Tar is dead!" he cried. "Let A-Kor rule until
the chiefs of all Manator may be summoned to choose a new jeddak. What
is your answer?"

"Let A-Kor rule! A-Kor, Jeddak of Manator!" The cries filled the room
and there was no dissenting voice.

A-Kor raised his sword for silence. "It is the will of A-Kor," he said,
"and that of the Great Jed of Manatos, and the commander of the fleet
from Gathol, and of the illustrious John Carter, Warlord of Barsoom,
that peace lie upon the city of Manator and so I decree that the men of
Manator go forth and welcome the fighting men of these our allies as
guests and friends and show them the wonders of our ancient city and
the hospitality of Manator. I have spoken." And U-Thor and John Carter
dismissed their warriors and bade them accept the hospitality of
Manator. As the room emptied Djor Kantos reached the side of Tara of
Helium. The girl's happiness at rescue had been blighted by sight of
this man whom her virtuous heart told her she had wronged. She dreaded
the ordeal that lay before her and the dishonor that she must admit
before she could hope to be freed from the understanding that had for
long existed between them. And now Djor Kantos approached and kneeling
raised her fingers to his lips.

"Beautiful daughter of Helium," he said, "how may I tell you the thing
that I must tell you—of the dishonor that I have all unwittingly done
you? I can but throw myself upon your generosity for forgiveness; but
if you demand it I can receive the dagger as honorably as did O-Tar."

"What do you mean?" asked Tara of Helium. "What are you talking
about—why speak thus in riddles to one whose heart is already
breaking?"

Her heart already breaking! The outlook was anything but promising, and
the young padwar wished that he had died before ever he had had to
speak the words he now must speak.

"Tara of Helium," he continued, "we all thought you dead. For a long
year have you been gone from Helium. I mourned you truly and then, less
than a moon since, I wed with Olvia Marthis." He stopped and looked at
her with eyes that might have said: "Now, strike me dead!"

"Oh, foolish man!" cried Tara. "Nothing you could have done could have
pleased me more. Djor Kantos, I could kiss you!"

"I do not think that Olvia Marthis would mind," he said, his face now
wreathed with smiles. As they spoke a body of men had entered the
throne room and approached the dais. They were tall men trapped in
plain harness, absolutely without ornamentation. Just as their leader
reached the dais Tara had turned to Gahan, motioning him to join them.

"Djor Kantos," she said, "I bring you Turan the panthan, whose loyalty
and bravery have won my love."

John Carter and the leader of the new come warriors, who were standing
near, looked quickly at the little group. The former smiled an
inscrutable smile, the latter addressed the Princess of Helium. "'Turan
the panthan!'" he cried. "Know you not, fair daughter of Helium, that
this man you call panthan is Gahan, Jed of Gathol?"

For just a moment Tara of Helium looked her surprise; and then she
shrugged her beautiful shoulders as she turned her head to cast her
eyes over one of them at Gahan of Gathol.

"Jed or panthan," she said; "what difference does it make what one's
slave has been?" and she laughed roguishly into the smiling face of her
lover.

His story finished, John Carter rose from the chair opposite me,
stretching his giant frame like some great forest-bred lion.

"You must go?" I cried, for I hated to see him leave and it seemed that
he had been with me but a moment.

"The sky is already red beyond those beautiful hills of yours," he
replied, "and it will soon be day."

"Just one question before you go," I begged.

"Well?" he assented, good-naturedly.

"How was Gahan able to enter the throne room garbed in O-Tar's
trappings?" I asked.

"It was simple—for Gahan of Gathol," replied The Warlord. "With the
assistance of I-Gos he crept into The Hall of Chiefs before the
ceremony, while the throne room and Hall of Chiefs were vacated to
receive the bride. He came from the pits through the corridor that
opened behind the arras at the rear of the throne, and passing into The
Hall of Chiefs took his place upon the back of a riderless thoat, whose
warrior was in I-Gos' repair room. When O-Tar entered and came near him
Gahan fell upon him and struck him with the butt of a heavy spear. He
thought that he had killed him and was surprised when O-Tar appeared to
denounce him."

"And Ghek? What became of Ghek?" I insisted.

"After leading Val Dor and Floran to Tara's disabled flier which they
repaired, he accompanied them to Gathol from where a message was sent
to me in Helium. He then led a large party including A-Kor and U-Thor
from the roof, where our ships landed them, down a spiral runway into
the palace and guided them to the throne room. We took him back to
Helium with us, where he still lives, with his single rykor which we
found all but starved to death in the pits of Manator. But come! No
more questions now."

I accompanied him to the east arcade where the red dawn was glowing
beyond the arches.

"Good-bye!" he said.

"I can scarce believe that it is really you," I exclaimed. "Tomorrow I
will be sure that I have dreamed all this."

He laughed and drawing his sword scratched a rude cross upon the
concrete of one of the arches.

"If you are in doubt tomorrow," he said, "come and see if you dreamed
this."

A moment later he was gone.

JETAN, OR MARTIAN CHESS

For those who care for such things, and would like to try the game, I
give the rules of Jetan as they were given me by John Carter. By
writing the names and moves of the various pieces on bits of paper and
pasting them on ordinary checkermen the game may be played quite as
well as with the ornate pieces used upon Mars.

THE BOARD: Square board consisting of one hundred alternate black and
orange squares.

THE PIECES: In order, as they stand upon the board in the first row,
from left to right of each player.

The game is played with twenty black pieces by one player and twenty
orange by his opponent, and is presumed to have originally represented
a battle between the Black race of the south and the Yellow race of the
north. On Mars the board is usually arranged so that the Black pieces
are played from the south and the Orange from the north.

The game is won when any piece is placed on same square with opponent's
Princess, or a Chief takes a Chief.

The game is drawn when either Chief is taken by a piece other than the
opposing Chief, or when both sides are reduced to three pieces, or
less, of equal value and the game is not won in the ensuing ten moves,
five apiece.

The Princess may not move onto a threatened square, nor may she take an
opposing piece. She is entitled to one ten-space move at any time
during the game. This move is called the escape.

Two pieces may not occupy the same square except in the final move of a
game where the Princess is taken.

When a player, moving properly and in order, places one of his pieces
upon a square occupied by an opponent piece, the opponent piece is
considered to have been killed and is removed from the game.

The moves explained. Straight moves mean due north, south, east, or
west; diagonal moves mean northeast, southeast, southwest, or
northwest. A Dwar might move straight north three spaces, or north one
space and east two spaces, or any similar combination of straight
moves, so long as he did not cross the same square twice in a single
move. This example explains combination moves.

The first move may be decided in any way that is agreeable to both
players; after the first game the winner of the preceding game moves
first if he chooses, or may instruct his opponent to make the first
move.

Gambling: The Martians gamble at Jetan in several ways. Of course the
outcome of the game indicates to whom the main stake belongs; but they
also put a price upon the head of each piece, according to its value,
and for each piece that a player loses he pays its value to his
opponent.

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